


187

by panademonium



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Ownership, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Season/Series 05, Slavery, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 13:15:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 187
Words: 72,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panademonium/pseuds/panademonium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse spends 187 days in captivity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1

It begins right away.

It's like they're eager to get to it, like they've been waiting on the edge of their seats the entire car ride, like kids on their way to Disneyland. One of them gets out to pull the gates open, then the whole caravan drives into the compound. Jesse wonders if it's on purpose, how the fence around the place makes it look like the concentration camps he saw in his social studies textbook in seventh grade.

He doesn't have the will to fight when they drag him out of the car. He's still naïve enough to think death will come quick, that this will be over soon. That makes the walk itself relatively painless, at least. If he'd struggled, he's sure they'd be yanking him by his legs across the driveway, his face in the rocks and the dirt, the way they had in the desert. This way, they're only shoving him and sending the occasional kick at his calves to make him stumble.

Because he still has the luxury of thinking about something other than the immediate present, his mind is on Jane. On Mr. White's parting words. What's happening to him at this moment hardly seems to matter in the face of that revelation: he'd given everything up in service to the man who'd murdered the love of his life. And that man had never cared for him. Not now, not ever. It had all been one great, big, cruel manipulation. And now that he's outlived his usefulness, it's time for his execution.

But execution is not what these Neo-Nazi assholes have in mind.

They take him to a tool shed. A tool shed that, Jesse quickly realizes, has been converted into a kind of torture chamber. He isn't the first person who's been brought here. Someone else's blood has stained the floor. It's old; they never bothered to clean it up. There's a hook hanging from the ceiling, the kind they use in slaughterhouses for hanging pigs and cows on. That's where they hang Jesse, his wrists bound with chains.

At least seven of them circle around, hungry jackals eyeing their captured prey. But it's Todd who steps forward, slipping brass knuckles onto his hand. "Hey, Jesse," he says cordially, like they've just run into each other at the supermarket. "We've got a few questions. You think you could help us out?"


	2. Day 2

Jesse's still dangling from the meat hook. He must have passed out after a few minutes or hours or however long it was in reality—he can't tell—and they left him there. His arms have gone totally numb, being suspended above his head for that long. The rest of him, unfortunately, has yet to lose feeling.

There's a small window in the corner of the room. From the gradual lightening of the sky, he figures it's early morning instead of twilight. He stares with empty eyes at that ever-paling blue, listening to the drip-drop of some fluid or another coming off his body. He doesn't really think about anything now, even his hatred and fear lost to the hum of agony that overpowers his mind.

The sun has fully risen by the time he hears the jingle of keys at the door.


	3. Day 3

"Do you know what killed Jesus?" Todd asks conversationally.

He's standing behind Jesse, so Jesse can't see what he's doing (and he doesn't especially want to). When he doesn't answer, Todd yanks at his chains, and he attempts around a swollen tongue, "C-Cross."

"Right," Todd replies, not wholly satisfied. "But I mean specifically."

"I d-don't…"

"He suffocated. He drowned in his own lung fluid. You know, because his arms were nailed up like that for so long. Isn't that something?"

Jesse's never thought of that before, but it makes all too much sense to him now. He's had to gasp for breath ever since they suspended him like this. The only reason he can still breathe at all, he figures, is because his feet are touching the ground.

"I don't want that to happen to you, Jesse," Todd says. Something overhead rattles and unlocks, which sends a shock of pain through Jesse's body as his dislocated arms are repositioned. He starts to collapse, but Todd's arms encircle him and help his body lower to the ground more gently. "Easy, there. Easy."

The chains that bound him are removed, but Jesse can't even think about running. He curls up on the floor, screaming and sobbing as the feeling returns to his arms just in time for Todd to force them back into their sockets. Once that's done, Todd spends a long while cradling Jesse in his lap, hushing him like he's a crying babe.


	4. Day 4

Jesse's new place is on the floor of the tool shed. His wrists are chained to his ankles, his knees up against his chest so he can lay his head against them. The amount of relief that provides is minimal, at best. It isn't long before this new position is just as painful as hanging from a meat hook.

When the door opens this time, it isn't Todd who enters.

"Jesus Christ," the man hisses. It's the one that Todd keeps calling Uncle Jack. After a moment of taking in the sight, he steps closer and aims a prodding kick at Jesse's ribs. "You still alive?"

Jesse moans weakly in response.

"Jesus," Uncle Jack mutters again, shaking his head. "That kid…" He leaves Jesse's side to take a screwdriver off the wall, then strides back out of the shed, locking the door behind him.


	5. Day 5

Jesse is awoken by the touch of fingers easing his chin back. They feel like they belong to a woman, but when Jesse opens his eyes, it's Todd that he sees kneeling in front of him. Carefully, those fingers pry Jesse's lips apart.

"Drink up," Todd says, tipping water from a bottle into his mouth. Just enough for a sip, at first, which is good because Jesse sputters and chokes on it. His throat is so dry and inflamed, it's hard to swallow anything. Todd figures out quickly that if he tilts Jesse's head back a little more, the liquid will sort of slip down his throat without effort.

Still, it takes Jesse almost a half hour to finish the entire bottle.


	6. Day 6

The door doesn't open all day. Jesse sleeps.


	7. Day 7

At first, they try to make him walk, but they give up when they can't even get him to stand upright. It takes three of them to carry him, Todd hugging him around the shoulders and the other two hoisting his legs. Jesse's head lolls back and he catches sight of Uncle Jack smoking a cigarette by the door, watching them at it, but the man makes no move to assist.

Instead, he jokes, "Oughta stop feeding him. Make him easier to cart around."

"Why don't you just get him a damn litter," says the guy with the pornstache—Kenny, Jesse thinks they call him. "A… What's it called? A _palanquin_. Then we can carry him around like one of them Chink emperors."

"Might as well," says the third—a fat guy—huffing and puffing. "Ain't that what we're doing already with this princess over here?"

"He'll be on his feet again soon," Todd says, more uncomfortable with their complaints than with the burden of Jesse in his arms.

"Don't care if he's prancing around or he stays in the hole," Uncle Jack says, "long as he's outta my shed. Smells like a damn toilet in there now."

"Sorry, Uncle Jack," Todd mumbles, but he gives Jesse a glance and strokes the back of Jesse's neck as if to reassure him that he's not personally mad about the mess.

Jesse can't really see him, though, once they're out of the shade of the tool shed. His one eye is swollen shut and the other hasn't adjusted to the desert sun, which washes out his vision in white. Even when they stop and lower him to the ground, he doesn't bother trying to look around. His gaze drops straight to the hole, which must be the one Uncle Jack mentioned. From what he can see between the bars that serve as a cover, it looks deep.

"Should we just roll him into it?" Kenny asks, brushing off his hands.

"I, uh, I think that might break a few of his bones," Todd answers.

"What's a couple more?" Uncle Jack sneers.

"I can bring him down with the ladder," Todd says. Jesse's hands are cuffed, which makes it easy for Todd to lift his arms up and around so that it's almost like he's encircling Todd's shoulders for support, a flaccid embrace.

Kenny looks at Uncle Jack, one eyebrow raised, but Jack shakes his head and jerks a thumb toward the ladder in a wordless order to retrieve it for his nephew.


	8. Day 8

"Why'd you lie to us, Jesse?" Todd asks softly, easing him back against the wall. "We checked everywhere. It wasn't in your house. Why would you say it was if it wasn't?"

Jesse keeps his mouth shut, his jaw locked and teeth gritting, as he fixes a defiant stare on Todd.

"I don't know what you think is gonna happen here," Todd sighs, exasperated. "You know we'll get you to talk. The only thing is, the more you hold out on us, the more we have to hurt you. And, me… I don't wanna hurt you." He leans forward, cupping the half of Jesse's face that isn't quite so mutilated yet. "I'd really appreciate it if you'd just be honest with me so I don't have to. Because I will."

There isn't a doubt in Jesse's mind about that. But he can't do it. He can't give them Mrs. Schrader, not after everything else that happened. She let him into her home, she gave him coffee and lasagna and a bed to sleep in. It was the last kindness anyone ever did for him.

"Okay," Todd says after waiting a good long moment, giving Jesse ample opportunity to change his mind and seeing that opportunity wasted. He reaches down and Jesse shuts his eye, listening to the scrape of metal against the floor. "I hope you come to your senses soon."

Jesse's head slams back against the wall as the metal collides with his cheekbone.


	9. Day 9

Everything's quiet. The only sound Jesse can hear is the tarp overhead, flapping in the wind. They've all gone, he thinks. Maybe every single one of them. If only this hole wasn't so deep, if only his body wasn't so broken, now might be the perfect time for escape.

But why bother? He's given them what they wanted. Soon—finally—he'll be dead. It isn't as if there's anything waiting for him outside this cage, so he might as well give in.

And anyway, he doesn't deserve to live. Not after telling them the truth about where his confession tape really is.

He rolls onto his side, a whimper caught in his throat. Poor Mrs. Schrader. He doesn't want to think about what they'll do to her, but he can't help it. He hopes it's fast, not like it's been for him—or maybe, if God is even _possibly_ listening to him, maybe she won't be home at all. Maybe she's staying with family, maybe with Mrs. White, and no one will put a bullet in her head... or do something worse. He'd begged Todd not to hurt her, and Todd had promised they wouldn't, but what good is the word of that psychopath? All that Jesse can imagine is the worst scenario. Luck hasn't been on their side, not at any point through all of this, and God is deaf to Jesse's prayers if He's there at all.

"I'm sorry," he whispers to the dust stirring in the cold draft. "I'm so sorry."


	10. Day 10

The wind carries the sound of Todd's voice, but no one comes close to the cage or lifts the tarp to look inside. When darkness falls again, Jesse's still alive and he can't imagine why.

Maybe they're leaving him to rot.

Maybe they've forgotten he's down there.


	11. Day 11

Todd hasn't forgotten. Instead of death, he gives Jesse two gifts: a meth lab and a photograph.

Jesse's knees weaken and he has to grab hold of the chain to keep himself upright. He can hardly hear Todd's voice over the roaring in his ears, the rush of blood as his heart plummets.

How is it possible that things keep getting worse? He wakes up to every day being the worst day of his life, and yet the one that follows is always more terrible. _How?_

They have Andrea and Brock. Innocent, unsuspecting hostages, no doubt delivered to them by Walter White himself. The place where Jesse's heart dropped into his stomach a moment ago now erupts into fire, helpless dread turning to hot rage. They obviously think this will control him. This is the incentive they're giving him to work in this lab with this psychopath, for however long it takes to meet whatever goal they're after. As it was with Gus, they won't kill him because they need him.

Todd— _Todd_ needs him.

Jesse peels his gaze off the photograph just as Todd's approaching him, one hand outstretched to touch his shoulder. Jesse allows it. Todd must be mistaking the twisted fury on his face for sadness, because he assures Jesse, "They're alive. Don't worry. They're safe. I just want you to think about them while we're doing our work here, Jess."

Jesse nods mutely, because he has to. The rest he has to take on faith and logic combined; after all, if they get rid of Andrea and Brock, then they'll _really_ have nothing to hold over him. His own life is worth nothing to him anymore, and Todd obviously knows that.


	12. Day 12

They're arguing up there. Jesse can't hear the words, exactly, but he can tell that Todd's pleading on his behalf. It's in his tone: a whine, like a little kid begging for a toy. They want to kill the rat and Todd won't let them, that's the gist of it.

Jesse wishes he would shut up and let them do it. They won't let him go—that much has always been clear to him—and he'd rather be dead than alive, in this cage, in the meth lab, anywhere on this planet where he might screw up and get Andrea and Brock killed.

But laughter erupts outside and it seems Todd's won the argument. The voices fade into the distance.

Jesse lowers his gaze to the photograph in his hands.


	13. Day 13

Picking a lock with a paperclip is harder than it looks on TV.

He keeps trying.


	14. Day 14

It isn't a cook day, but Todd takes him out of the cage.

"I'm gonna take the chains off," he tells Jesse. "I gotta trust you won't hit me or start running or something stupid like that. 'cause my uncle and his buddies, you know, they're standing right around the corner with some very big guns." He pauses, trying to look Jesse in the eye, but Jesse keeps his gaze defiantly averted. "Can I trust you with that, Jesse?"

Jesse nods silently, his jaw set. He's not sure he can keep that promise, really. Every muscle in his body is telling him to run as soon as he hears the first lock click and spring open. But he believes Todd about the guns. There's no point in running right now, in broad daylight. He'd never make it out, never make it to Brock and Andrea, never get them to safety. So why do it?

He keeps still.

"Good, Jesse," Todd says as he unlocks the final shackle and the chains all drop to the ground in a snakey pile. "Can you take off your clothes yourself, or do you need me to do it?"

_Now_ Jesse looks at him, sharply, with wide eyes.

Todd laughs. "Well, you don't wanna shower with your clothes _on_ , do you? That'd be weird."

"I can do it myself," Jesse says firmly before Todd can get it in his head to try reaching over to assist. The task itself, however, is more difficult than he expected. His bruised ribs make it hard to pull his shirt up and over his head. Todd ends up having to help him with it anyway.

"You don't have to be shy," Todd reassures him. "It's not like I haven't already seen everything."

Jesse recoils at that, taking a step away from Todd now that the shirt's off, and Todd leaves the rest to Jesse, holding his hands up with a lopsided little smile that says he thinks Jesse's being very foolish and way too uptight about all of this. It's a look that says: _what's the big deal?_

Jesse's body is covered in a series of lacerations: some from knives and some from switches, all in various stages of healing, many infected and oozing pus. Even the unbroken skin is inflamed. He hasn't washed since that final day in the Schrader home. When the water hits him, the dirt and blood and filth pour off of him like a black river. Jesse would be basking in it if his "shower" didn't involve Todd aiming a high-pressure and freezing-cold hose at him. He can't enjoy cleanliness when it feels like he's about to die of hypothermia and every time the hard spray pounds his wounds it hurts so much that he cries out.

Once he's dried, Todd hands him a new set of clothes. When Jesse puts them on, he realizes they're Todd's clothes.

No…

They're the clothes Todd wore the day he shot Drew Sharp.


	15. Day 15

He can feel the latch in there, but the paperclip keeps slipping before he can trigger it.

His shivering doesn't help.


	16. Day 16

Todd's breath hits the back of his neck. He's peering over Jesse's shoulder, watching him break ice. "You're really good at this, Jess," he says, sounding sincerely awed. "That's beautiful."

Jesse ignores him. Every time he brings the hammer down, he imagines it's Todd's skull that's cracking, not crystal.

Todd reaches around to pick up one of the rocks. "Is it hard for you, being around all this stuff and not using it?" He laughs a moment later, sheepish. "Sorry, I'm not trying to be nosy. It's just... Mr. White used to talk about how you were an addict, so I was wondering."

Jesse continues to ignore him. _Crunch, crunch, crunch_ goes the meth.

"My mom was really into crank, too," Todd says, holding the rock up and admiring the way the light shines straight through it. No cloudiness. Clear blue sky. "She'd do it every morning. You know how most people drink coffee? Nothing else could get her outta bed."

Jesse can't tell if he's looking for pity or not. The way Todd talks, it really sounds like he's just discussing his mom's favorite food or something. Like it's not a big deal, growing up with a tweaker for a mom.

Well, whatever. Jesse refuses to feel sorry for him.

"You could have some," Todd offers abruptly. "If you want."

At that, Jesse stops and sets the hammer down. He doesn't turn to look at Todd, focused instead on the tray of blue in front of him. Is it a trick? Is Todd testing him to see whether he'd ever be tempted to steal?

"I mean, you're probably tired, too," Todd continues, leaning up against the counter so he can examine Jesse's face. "You _look_ tired. I thought giving you that nice bed would help, but if you need something more... A little bump every now and then..."

Is that supposed to be some kind of joke? That "nice bed" is a sleeping roll at the bottom of a dark, freezing pit, next to a bucket of his own shit and piss. Todd's mocking him. Jesse shuts his eyes so he doesn't have to look at that face, at that little smirk.

"It's okay, Jesse. You can tell me if you need it."

"I don't," Jesse answers. "I don't need any." Rather, he does, desperately. But he won't take it from this lab, from Todd, from Mr. White—who taught him how to make such beautiful, pure meth in the first place. He won't do it. All the need in the world won't send him crawling back to any of them for comfort. The withdrawal makes his hands shake and he would kill for anything to take him out of this place—if not physically, then mentally. But...

But not this meth. Never.

"Okay," Todd replies skeptically, but he doesn't press further.


	17. Day 17

The cuffs pop open and Jesse hisses a triumphant, "Yeah, bitch!" between his teeth. He'd been doing it wrong this whole time. Now that he's figured out the right way, it's so easy. So stupidly simple. He does it a few more times. It takes less than ten seconds when he's doing it properly. 

Unfortunately, that's only step one to getting out of the cage.

When all is quiet outside, Jesse tries to jump for the grate overhead. Impossible. He's too short by far.

Even if he uses the bucket as a footstool, it's still almost a yard out of his reach.

He spends over an hour experimenting with different ways of stacking his few possessions, trying to get the tallest arrangement. Even when he finally touches the bars, he fails to get a hold, only grazing them with his fingertips. Discouraged and worried about pressing his luck with each passing minute, he places everything back where it was and puts his shackles back on.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he'll get it.


	18. Day 18

At last, he manages to grab hold of the bars. But his arms are too weak from disuse, and the pain of his bruised and broken ribs shocks him into letting go. He slams hard onto concrete floor, limbs sprawling.

For a heart-stopping moment, he lies there with the wind knocked out of him, straining to listen for any approaching steps above.

When he's certain no one heard him fall, he rolls over and starts doing push-ups. He's going to need more strength for this.


	19. Day 19

He overdid it. He can barely lift his arms. It's lucky that Todd doesn't need him for work today.

Todd doesn't come by to feed him, either, so he sleeps to preserve his strength.


	20. Day 20

The midday sun wakes Jesse. When he opens his eyes, he's temporarily blinded by it. He sits up quickly, trying to shield them, but he can only raise his arms so high when they're chained. He gives up and squints instead, trying to see who's pulled the tarp off the grate.

"Holyyyyy _shit_ ," whistles someone he hasn't heard before.

"What'd I tell you?" That's Uncle Jack's voice.

"You just got him living down there?"

"Toddy's pet project."

"Literally," a third person laughs: Kenny.

"How long you keeping him for?" the stranger asks. It sounds like he's chewing on something.

Uncle Jack answers: "Who the hell knows."

The stranger snickers, lips smacking around whatever he's mashing between his teeth. "You could have some real fun, you know what I'm saying? Real fun."

"You damn queer?" Jack snaps back. "We ain't on the inside anymore. Need a lay, just go buy some real coochie."

"Stuff you can't do to a hooker, though," Kenny helpfully points out.

"Get close enough to smell him, then tell me you wanna put your dick in that."

"Well, open it up, then," says the stranger.

Jesse sees a blur of movement as Uncle Jack gives the man a hard shove. "That's enough homo bullshit," he says, sounding more annoyed than actually angry. "Get back to the clubhouse and we'll call up some girls, pay a few thousand for the extra freaky shit, fuck the faggot right outta you. Being in the can's got you all messed up, brother. Happy to throw you a welcome home party, but this one belongs to Toddy."

The stranger chuckles, wise enough to concede to Jack without arguing. He leans over the grate to spit between the bars before turning to follow his leader. A wet wad of chewing tobacco splatters on Jesse's cheek.


	21. Day 21

Tonight is the night. It has to be. He'd rather get shot than wait around for Uncle Jack and his cronies to get at him. He doesn't think they'll be patient with Todd's ownership of him forever. Eventually they'll be too drunk or too high or too pissed off to care who he's supposed to belong to.

Jesse refuses to go out like that, as somebody's bitch.

He's stronger now. His body doesn't ache as much as it did half a week ago. He knows he can get the cuffs off. He knows he can reach the bars. He knows there's no padlock. He can be out of the cage in under two minutes and then it's a straight shot for the fence. Just a fence. He's hopped fences before and he can take a little razorwire if it means getting out, getting to freedom, getting to Brock and Andrea. He can do this.

He inhales deeply and shuts his eyes, trying to steady his trembling hands. Ever since freedom became a real possibility, he's stopped wishing for death. He wants so badly to survive, to escape this life and return to the people who love him.

Why did he ever _leave_ them?

He's going to make it all up to them. Mexico first, he figures, and they'll stay with Andrea's family while he recovers. He'll pay them for their trouble somehow. He can work hard in the fields or whatever. Then, in a few years, when the heat dies down, they can come back to America. Move to California, maybe. He wants to take Brock to Disneyland. That definitely has to happen sometime before Brock's too old for it.

He'll make them happy. He'll be the best husband Andrea could ever want. He'll do anything for her. He'll be the father that Brock needs. He'll give that kid everything. "I promise," he tells the night air, hoping God is listening. "Just keep me safe, just get me to their house."

Then he can keep _them_ safe.


	22. Day 22

Andrea's dead.

Andrea's dead.

Andrea's dead.

And _there's still the boy._


	23. Day 23

He thrashes and screams until his body is physically unable to go on like that. His voice becomes hoarse then fades away entirely so that when he opens his mouth, no sound comes out at all. He twists and writhes and beats himself against the walls. Todd and the others are forced to restrain him like a mental patient and shoot him full of horse tranquilizer. They'll break his spirit but they won't allow him to break his own bones.

He needs those for work.


	24. Day 24

If he wakes up at all, he doesn't remember it.


	25. Day 25

The tarp hasn't been replaced. Jesse opens his eyes and catches sight of the stars and for a brief moment forgets what's been done.

When it comes back to him, he feels like he can't breathe.


	26. Day 26

"You have to eat," Todd says, fingers prying at Jesse's jaw. There's force behind them, but no violence. It's only the two of them down there, with Jesse's head resting in Todd's lap while he fights—one spoonful at a time—to scoop chicken broth into Jesse's mouth.

Jesse keeps tossing his head from side to side and spitting in Todd's face, which forces Todd to tighten his grip.

He's undeterred. After several minutes of struggle, he says again, "You have to eat. You have to eat, Jesse. For the little boy's sake."

That makes Jesse stop resisting.

But he throws up after Todd's gone.


	27. Day 27

Jesse's too weak to fight when Todd comes down to feed him again.

Todd stays longer this time, for over an hour after the meal's finished, to make sure that Jesse doesn't get sick again.


	28. Day 28

"You must've liked her a lot," Todd marvels, as if it's something he's only just discovering.

Jesse's breath quickens.

Todd goes on: "I didn't think she was that important. When Mr. White had us set that trap for you, you didn't fall for it. I figured that must've meant she didn't mean that much to you after all." He chuckles after a pause. "I guess all it really meant was you underestimated him, huh. That's how he got you in the end."

Jesse's hand moves, chains rustling.

Todd's hand comes to rest over it. "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to laugh at you."

Jesse goes still once more.

"I don't know what it's like to have a girlfriend," Todd confesses. "Don't get me wrong. I've _been_ with girls. I just never had one I cared about that much before."

Jesse has nothing to say to that.

Todd looks down at him, trying to look into his eyes, but Jesse refuses to indulge him. Instead of being offended, Todd runs his fingers through Jesse's hair. Over and over, like stroking a dog. "Do you wanna talk about her?" he asks. "Maybe it'd help. When you miss somebody, sometimes it helps to talk."

Jesse mumbles something incomprehensible around clenched teeth.

"What?"

It's only slightly more intelligible the second time: "You killed her."

Todd lets that whisper hang in the quiet air for a long moment. It seems, at first, as if he still might have not heard it. But then his hands move to cup Jesse's face, forcing his head off Todd's lap and bringing him close, so that there isn't any way he can avoid meeting Todd's eyes now.

"No," Todd corrects gently. " _You_ killed her."


	29. Day 29

"So, what, now you're just keeping him for shits and giggles?"

"No, Uncle Jack. He'll get better. It's just he's real sick right now."

"Too sick to work means it's time to put him down. I mean, that's the whole point of this, right? Keeping him alive in the first place? What good's a cook that don't cook?"

Jesse hears the sound of a gun cocking. He can't tell how far away it is. His eyes have been shut the entire time and the rest of his senses are swimming, his body seeming to drift aimlessly in a swirling void where space and time have lost all meaning and grief is the only sensation, filling his heart and his lungs and his mind.

"Uncle Jack!" Todd pleads.

Cold metal slides under Jesse's chin, forcing his head up. The instinctive shock of it is enough to get him to look, even though he doesn't want to. Jack's face is less than an inch from his. (This must be where Todd gets that habit from.) The man is stooping over him, feet planted on either side of Jesse's body. "Pull yourself together," he tells Jesse.

Jesse stares at him, uncomprehending.

"Pull yourself together and be a fucking man, for once. I know you ain't sick. You're just pathetic, is what you are. You think I don't know what this is? This pussy little mood swing you got going on? Listen..." Jack sits down, planting himself right on Jesse's chest. The barrel of the gun doesn't move from its place beneath Jesse's chin. "Your Spic girl getting killed? That happened a long time ago. That happened the second you decided to rat out your old partner, alright? If you couldn't handle that, then you shouldn't have opened your fat mouth."

The weight on his chest is painful. Jesse wheezes as he struggles to breathe.

"But there's still somebody out there who's depending on you to survive," Jack continues, jabbing the gun into Jesse's Adam's apple. "You know who. Say his name. Say his name and think about the last time you said it to him. Think about his cute little face and say it."

Jesse coughs.

" _Say his name._ "

"Brock," Jesse chokes.

The pressure on his throat eases as Uncle Jack nods, satisfied. "That's right. Your little boy. Brock. Brock needs you to get the hell up and do what we tell you to do. Or else Brock's gonna be walking to school tomorrow and get a nice fat bullet right in his cute little face."

Jack picks himself back up, looming and waiting until Jesse's finished sputtering before he adds, "You ain't getting outta this 'til you get it through your head who put you here in the first place. Think about it."

He holsters his gun and gives Jesse a kick to the stomach for good measure, then turns to ruffle Todd's hair. "If I don't smell something cooking before the night's up, I'm paying a visit to little Brock," he tells his nephew, though the message is really meant for Jesse. "You remind him if he has any trouble getting his ass up."


	30. Day 30

As Jesse pulls off his ventilator, he feels Todd's hands clap down on his shoulders. "Good job, Jess," Todd says from behind him, full of pep. "I knew you could do it."

Jesse squeezes his eyes shut, standing stock-still with the gasmask hugged to his chest, waiting for Todd to go away.

But Todd doesn't. "I feel like we should celebrate," he muses, his fingers massaging Jesse's shoulders. "Since that was such a challenge for you, you know? You earned it."

"Stop touching me," Jesse hisses.

Todd's fingers pause in their movement as he considers the request. Then they resume their massaging. "I think you need to relax.".

"I think you need to get your hands off me," Jesse replies, his voice low and dangerous.

"You seem a little confused about who's in charge here, Jesse."

Since Todd refuses to release him, Jesse jerks away instead and swerves around to face him. The leash rattles loudly, echoing around the lab in the taut silence that follows. They stare at each other for a long moment: Jesse with narrowed, challenging eyes and Todd with a mildly perplexed gape.

Then Todd asks, "Why can't anything ever be nice with you?"

It isn't the response that Jesse was expecting. He gives a slight shake of his head. It makes no sense at all, in fact. It might as well have been in another language.

"I mean, I know you don't like it when people are mean. Nobody does. But you also don't like it when people are nice. You don't like _anything_." Todd spreads his hands helplessly, his eyebrows raised. "I never know what to do for you."

"You…" Jesse starts, then stops, sucking in a ragged breath while he attempts to form some response that will actually get through to Todd. "You killed someone I loved and you can't figure out why I hate you."

Somehow, Todd turns it around like Jesse's the dim one here. He explains as if to a small child for the hundredth time, "You tried to run away. I don't know what you expected. You had a warning and everything. How can you keep blaming me for that?"

Jesse drops the ventilator and surges forward, his hands grasping for Todd's throat. But Todd ducks away easily and reaches over Jesse's head, taking hold of the chain and jerking it back so that Jesse loses his balance. When he stumbles, Todd catches him in his arms and pulls his wrists behind his back. Todd's bigger than Jesse and in much better shape. It's almost easier than it would be to restrain a woman or a child, given how brittle Jesse has become after a month in his care.

"Shhh…" Todd hooks his arm under Jesse's chin and draws him back, close, up against him. "You're in trouble if my uncle hears you. What'd he just tell you yesterday?"

Jesse goes still. A stifled, mournful noise escapes his throat.

"It's okay," Todd murmurs, resting cheek-to-cheek with Jesse. He cradles Jesse like that, the clanking of his chains accompanying their slow dance like soft, tinny music. "We'll work on it. You'll get better."


	31. Day 31

Sometime during the middle of the night, he stirs at the feeling of slender fingers running through his hair.

He pretends he's still asleep until he actually drifts off again, and when he wakes up the next morning, he can't figure out whether or not it was a dream.


	32. Day 32

Todd keeps his distance, for the most part, but his eyes never leave Jesse as the two of them weave around the lab. Jesse can feel that gaze piercing straight through him, filling him with ice though Todd himself isn't cold or steely.

Far from it, actually, which is the most unsettling thing about him. Most people stare with some kind of purpose, some emotion projecting out from their eyes. But that isn't Todd. Todd is inscrutable to the point of emptiness. There isn't malice behind his cruelty. There isn't anything. Jesse is slowly learning that Todd doesn't even derive any kind of sick pleasure from all of this. Todd isn't _capable_ of experiencing pleasure.

Which is dangerous. Because when Todd watches Jesse like this, Jesse doesn't know what's in his head. What he's planning next. What he's imagining. Jesse _can't_ know what to expect.

It might be that Todd's just afraid of him. Jesse tried to attack him, after all, and he's still seething with palpable hatred. But Todd hadn't seemed afraid even in that moment, and he'd brought Jesse to heel with ease. So is it really wariness keeping him that vigilant?

It might be that he's bored. No one else is around to occupy his attention and he hasn't bothered to focus on improving his cook now that he has Jesse to do the work for him. Maybe Jesse's movements are the closest thing to stimulation that Todd's dim mind can grasp.

Or…

Maybe he's looking for something. Something Jesse has that he doesn't have.

When Jesse arrives at that thought, a shiver runs down his spine.

Whatever that something is, he has the feeling that Todd wants to rip it out of him.


	33. Day 33

"Jesse," whispers a raspy voice in his ear.

Jesse ignores it.

" _Jesse._ "

He squeezes his eyes shut.

" _Jesse!_ "

Jesse sits up and screams, " _What?_ "

His voice echoes up through the empty cell and out into the night air.


	34. Day 34

Someone folds the tarp back. Jesse raises his eyes just long enough to recognize Todd's silhouette against the blue sky. Then he looks away.

"Hey, Jess," Todd greets him, chipper, crouching down next to the grate and peering into the cage. It's late in the day, so the light is dim. Jesse is mostly a shadow among shadows. "You don't need to get up. I was just seeing how you're doing."

He's met with silence.

"You oughta say how you're doing unless you want me to come down there and check."

"...I'm fine." The answer is hardly audible.

"You hungry?"

"No."

Todd nods, already expecting that answer. "Okay," he says, getting back to his feet. "Holler if you need anything. I'll be over there, working on the car."

He waits, ever hopeful for a response from Jesse. But when nearly a minute passes and Jesse says nothing, he rolls the tarp over the grate once more.


	35. Day 35

Somewhere on the compound, there's a motor or an air-conditioning unit or a generator or something that kicks on every so often. It makes a loud humming sound, like _rrrr-rrrr-rrrr_. A deep bass sound that pulsates the air, down into the dirt, into bones.

There's something about that sound that Jesse likes. Familiarity, maybe. It's a sound everyone's heard a thousand times before, in the background, everywhere. And at the bottom of this hole, the ambient sound becomes womb-like. A heartbeat.

Jesse's curled up on floor, ear pressed to cold concrete, listening to that throbbing electric hum. It starts, then stops. An hour or so later, it starts again. Fifteen or twenty minutes after that, it stops. Jesse's mind fills the in-between with a white noise of its own, a meditative and expansive static numbness.

As the hours roll on and the cell goes dark, Jesse comes to realize that there's a sound layered over the motorized pulse. He can only hear it when he isn't thinking too hard about it. It's a woman's voice. She's singing, but it isn't exactly a song. It's more aimless, a tone that drifts along and weaves in and out amidst intakes of breath.

He feels her cheek pressed to his chest, her fingertip absently tracing his ribs. The oscillating melody tickles him a little where her throat vibrates against his skin. He smiles for the first time in a long while.

Like this, Andrea sings him to sleep.


	36. Day 36

As Jesse leans in to check the temperature gauge, a shadow crosses the floor. He turns and raises his eyes to find Uncle Jack staring at him from the doorway, lips pulled back in disgust—at the smell of him, apparently. "Jesus," Jack says. "Don't he ever change your diaper?"

Jesse stares back at him, silent.

"That's a joke." Uncle Jack points a finger at him as he walks further into the lab. "Smile once in a while. It's good for you."

Jesse doesn't smile. He takes a step back, putting more space between himself and Uncle Jack.

Jack gives a dismissive wave of his hand. "Relax. I don't give a shit about you. Where's Todd?"

"Phone call," Jesse answers promptly in his attempt to get Jack out of the room as fast as possible.

Jack gets a strange little smile on his face. "Ah," he says with an air of sudden comprehension. "The Quayle woman."

It's no surprise to Jesse that Lydia is their partner in all of this, but this is the first that anyone's openly and directly mentioned her to him. He must look nonplussed, because Jack laughs at him. "You jealous? Wait, no. You're into dark meat. Nevermind."

Jesse nearly takes a step forward.

Uncle Jack's already anticipating trouble, his eyes fixed on Jesse as if he's daring the kid to act. But the amusement never leaves him and he keeps talking: "You know she's the whole reason you're here, right? Toddy's hot for her and she's hot for your crank. Soon as he sticks it to her, he's done with you."

Jesse looks away from Jack to stare determinedly at the settling tank to the right of him. He tries not to react at all, but his face twitches.

"Don't it just kill you? All this—" Uncle Jack gestures to the meth lab that surrounds them. "—just for that kid to get laid."

Jesse's fingers hurt. Without realizing it, he's been squeezing and twisting his chains between his hands, white-knuckled.

Jack sighs, throwing his arms out in a dramatic shrug. "The things we do for love," he says, and saunters out the door with a final, wolfish grin in Jesse's direction.


	37. Day 37

Jesse remembers Lydia. She'd reminded him of a squirrel: small and skittish and wide-eyed, drawing in on herself with hands clutched close to her chest. She'd seemed terrified from the moment he met her, though he'd tried his best to be polite and everything. He'd thought it was kind of stupid at the time.

Then, of course, they'd nearly killed her. Jesse runs his fingers over the metal around his wrist and thinks about how they'd handcuffed her to the table and told her she was going to die. Maybe there was something about him she'd first recognized when he came to pick up the methylamine, that he would bring that kind of danger down upon her, even when he didn't realize it himself.

She's smarter than him. She knows the enemy at first sight.

She'd put a hit out on Mike. When Jesse initially heard that, it had shocked him. It seemed too ruthless for a lady like her, ordering someone's death. (Almost as ruthless as it'd seemed when Walt ordered _his_ death.) But Jesse's perspective has shifted now that the target is fixed on Brock. He knows Lydia's a mother. Mike and Walt and Jesse and all the guys who'd ended up shanked in prison must have looked to her like the Nazis look to Jesse: like a threat to her child.

Jesse had figured it was business that kept Lydia involved in all this. Steady cash flow. He'd thought maybe she didn't even know what was really going on, like maybe Heisenberg was still the cook and everything.

But maybe she's trapped by Todd, too. Not like this, obviously. Not in a real cage. But if she sees Todd clearly, then what she's seeing is a psychopath with an unhealthy interest in her. She has to be thinking about what happens to her daughter if she pisses Todd off.

If she's thinking about that, then maybe she's also thinking about how to kill him. Maybe she needs help doing that. Maybe, if Jesse can find a way to talk to her, he can tell her that _he_ wants to help.

Then both of them will be free of that psycho.


	38. Day 38

When Todd arrives at the cage to feed him, Jesse looks up. Their eyes meet. Todd's startled, frozen for a moment. It's been weeks since Jesse looked at him without being commanded, not since the night he killed Andrea.

Jesse isn't glaring, either. His eyes are soft, tired. Maybe he's finally sick of fighting so much.

But Todd isn't stupid. A change in behavior, even a nice one like that, usually means something's up. Jesse had thanked him for the ice cream that one time, but he still tried to escape. Jesse being a good boy doesn't mean Jesse's a friend. Not yet.

"Morning, Jess," Todd says, not wanting to be rude, even if he is wary.

"Morning," Jesse replies hoarsely.

Todd doesn't think it'd be a good idea to climb into the cage right now. He reaches for the bucket instead, dropping the bottle of water and sandwich into it, then lowers it carefully down to Jesse.

When Jesse takes the items from the bucket, he says, "Thanks."

Todd waits for something else to happen. Like for Jesse to grab at the rope or something. But he doesn't, so Todd raises the bucket and locks the grate. "I'll be nearby. Holler if you need anything."

"Thanks," Jesse says again, and again he raises those bright blue eyes to look straight at Todd.

Todd lingers for a second longer, staring back. Then he gets up and shuffles off.


	39. Day 39

Jesse's waiting for him again when Todd delivers breakfast. He's sitting quietly on his mattress, hands folded in his lap, eyes raised to look directly into Todd's. He's like those dogs on TV commercials, trained to sit really nice and wait for a treat.

Todd's head tilts just slightly to the right as he considers what he's seeing. Maybe he's done a good job training Jesse, after all.

"Hey," Jesse says first, before Todd can even get to greeting him.

"Hey," Todd replies, sounding confused and a little cautious. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Jesse answers, neither cheerful nor resentful. Neutral.

Todd nods and crouches down to load the food into Jesse's bucket.

"Hey, Todd?"

He stops and looks down at Jesse. "Yeah?"

"You think maybe I could come up there and eat?" Jesse sounds hesitant, wringing his hands nervously. "I mean… Just for a couple minutes. In the sun."

This sounds like the same trick he used when he asked to see the stars. "I don't think that's such a good idea, Jesse," Todd says. He'd really love to say yes, but it doesn't seem smart to him. "Uncle Jack might get mad."

"Okay." Jesse looks away from Todd finally, down to his hands. He seems disappointed.

"Maybe tomorrow," Todd adds.

"Okay."


	40. Day 40

Todd shakes his head as he places a sandwich into the bucket. "Sorry, Jess," he says—and he really is sorry. "Today's no good, either."

"Okay," Jesse says without argument.


	41. Day 41

"I wish I could trust you," Todd says, rolling Jesse's shirt up to expose his back and the dozens of criss-crossing scars Todd had left there last month.

"I know," Jesse says quietly, his voice muffled into the concrete.

"I wouldn't have to do this if you hadn't tried escaping that one time."

"I know."

Todd nods, placing his free hand on Jesse's neck to keep him down in case he struggles. "Do you wanna just tell me what you're planning?"

"I'm not planning anything."

Jesse can't see the disappointed look on Todd's face, but he hears Todd's sigh. The blade that cuts into his skin a moment later is a dull and jagged one. It takes some sawing to break the skin, not like a scalpel or something neat. He feels the pain acutely and chokes on a sob.

"What're you planning, Jesse?"

"I'm not… planning… anything."

Todd shakes his head and drags the knife slowly across Jesse's back, thick blood seeping down his sides. "Why're you trying to trick me?" he asks.

"I'm n-not," Jesse whimpers.

"Jesse," Todd whispers, his fingers stroking the soft hair at the nape of Jesse's neck while the knife in his other hand tears into Jesse a third time. "What're you planning?"


	42. Day 42

Jesse's never seen this part of the compound before. He'd sort of gathered that at least a few of them lived on-site, but he never knew where exactly and nothing ever looked home-like about any of the buildings. He was right about that: even the place they're in now looks more like it used to be an office of some kind, but got converted to a squat and then upgraded once the group got their hands on a few million dollars of Heisenberg's cash.

Without the lights on, the most Jesse can make out about the decor is the wood paneling of the walls. Everything else is a mess of shadows. Todd appears to know his way around easily, however, and he leads Jesse by his chains around any obstacles until they come to a long hall.

"Lester's still around," Todd whispers, "but he's probably asleep, so he won't notice unless we make noise. Make sure you don't, or I'm in big trouble."

Jesse nods mutely, though the gesture is pointless in the dark.

They come to the bathroom and Todd ushers him inside before turning on the lights. It's clearly been redone—maybe only recently finished—but the remodeling is tacky. When Jesse's parents had remodeled the bathroom in Ginny's house, they'd made it look clean and classy, like a five-star hotel to Jesse's eyes. Todd's family has merely upgraded the parts: new toilet, new sink, bathtub with whirlpool jets, lighting that looks like it belongs in a strip club.

Todd cuffs him to the tub faucet before turning to root around in the medicine cabinet. The best he can find is a bottle of whiskey. "Don't scream," he tells Jesse as he bends over him. He has to cut Jesse's shirt off with a pair of scissors, first. It's ruined, anyway. Once the skin is exposed, he pours the alcohol over it.

Jesse starts to scream anyway, but Todd quickly stifles him by shoving his forearm between Jesse's lips. Jesse bites him, but that's okay. He doesn't mean it, Todd knows.

Once the pain has subsided, Todd peels off the rest of Jesse's clothes and turns the water on. It's a little hot at first, but he adjusts the temperature until it's comfortable. The water turns red and brown from all the blood and grime on Jesse's skin, so he has to empty it immediately and refill it. It's cleaner the second time, more red than brown.

"You're being really good," he tells Jesse, who's slumped with his cheek against the tile and looking close to unconsciousness. Todd picks up the scissors he'd used to cut off Jesse's clothes and trims Jesse's hair, too, because it's gotten clumpy and hard to shampoo.

Jesse's really dirty. Todd has to empty and refill the tub a third time.

After the bath is finished, Todd bandages Jesse and dresses him up in another set of his old clothes. "Too bad we gotta throw those out," Todd says, referring to the shredded pile lying discarded on the floor. "That was my lucky shirt."

Jesse looks at him with tearful eyes. He's still in a lot of pain. Todd gets a couple of oxy from the medicine cabinet and sticks them onto Jesse's tongue.

That'll help.


	43. Day 43

They walk by Uncle Jack on the way to the lab. Jesse meets his eyes for a only split second, but it's long enough to catch a glimpse of the suspicion there. He can feel those eyes following him even after he's passed, scrutinizing.

It's not until they're nearly at the door that Jack speaks up: "Is he limping?"

A wave of panic rushes over Jesse as he straightens his posture, but it's too late to cover up his gait. Todd comes to the rescue, stepping between Jesse and Jack. "Aw, he just had a little accident getting up the ladder," he says.

"Ain't giving you trouble, is he?"

Todd shakes his head with a lopsided grin. "Naw, Uncle Jack. He's been real good."

"That right?" Jack leans to one side, catching Jesse's eye over Todd's shoulder. "You been _real good_?"

"Yes, sir," Jesse mumbles.

"What's that? Speak up."

"Yes, sir," Jesse repeats, his voice growing louder while the rest of him shrinks back.

Uncle Jack stares at Jesse for a moment longer, puffing on his cigarette. Then his gaze returns to Todd, and whatever he sees on his nephew's face must convince him to drop the inquiry, because he nods and flashes a tight-lipped smile. "Ain't that swell," he says, leaving them to it.


	44. Day 44

"I never really lied to Uncle Jack before," Todd says, wrinkling his nose as he drapes a fresh bandage over Jesse's shoulder blade. "I guess it was a pretty bad idea. I just didn't want him to find out I thought you were up to something. Uncle Jack doesn't like you as much as I do."

Jesse glances back to him. Stuff like that always sounds like a joke, except Todd never looks like he's joking.

"Sorry, did that hurt?" Todd's fingers ease up on the pressure as he smooths the bandage down.

Jesse looks away.


	45. Day 45

"I thought it'd be nice," Todd says, settling onto a boulder. "I mean, it's not like being out in the real desert, but this is the prettiest spot inside the fence."

That much is probably true. They're behind an old silo on the end of the compound that's opposite of where Jesse's cage is. The road can't be seen from here and there aren't any other buildings to block the view of the expansive golden fields beyond the chain-link. The sky is sapphire blue today, and though the air is still chilly, the sun feels warm on Jesse's skin. If Todd would stop talking, he could pretend he was somewhere _actually_ nice.

But Todd goes on as he unpacks their lunch: "I wish we could do this every day. Uncle Jack wouldn't like it. Too risky. But I think, if you keep up the good behavior, who knows? Maybe he'll come around to it."

Jesse looks over his shoulder, in the direction of the clubhouse. Only a couple of the others are around today, he gathers. The regular sentry. And they're not keeping watch back here.

"Don't worry," Todd laughs, clapping Jesse on the arm. "We still got a couple hours before he's back."

"I don't wanna get you in trouble," Jesse says, returning his gaze to Todd. He wonders if he could bludgeon Todd fast enough to keep his screams from alerting the guards.

Todd ducks his head, smiling sheepishly. "He'd just slap me around a little. It's nothing I can't take." He sets a sandwich and a can of beer down in front of Jesse.

Jesse goes for the sandwich first. "That happen a lot? Him hitting you."

"Well, no," Todd says, still smiling. "I'm a good learner. I don't piss him off. But I was pretty bad when I was a kid."

"Me, too," Jesse says, pretending like he's looking at his sandwich when he's really scanning the ground for something large and heavy.

"Kenny always says you can't spoil people or else they won't learn. You've got a bad temper, so maybe somebody spoiled you too much. 'course, he'd probably say I'm spoiling you right now..."

"You take good care of me," Jesse murmurs, looking into Todd's eyes again.

Todd holds his gaze, inscrutable as always. Whether he's deeply touched or highly suspicious, his face doesn't reveal anything beyond its empty and unnerving pleasantness. But after a moment of consideration, he reaches out to pet the top of Jesse's head. "You're my best friend, Jess. I'll always take care of you."

There isn't anything within reach that's big enough to cave in Todd's skull. Jesse strains to smile at him.


	46. Day 46

He has to sleep on his side or his stomach now. The gouges on his back are still too sore to put pressure on. Maybe infected. The blood and pus end up seeping through the bandages, so Todd has to change Jesse's shirt every single day. If anyone catches sight of the wounds, they'll ask questions that Todd doesn't want to have to answer. (He's afraid of losing his pet.)

The bedroll that Jesse sleeps on is thinner than a prison mattress. He might as well be lying on the concrete floor. The funny thing is, he's starting to forget what it was like to sleep in a real bed. It's one of those things he never paid all that much attention to, except when he and Walt were spending nights cramped together in the RV. And even that was luxury compared to this.

Jesse never appreciated anything like he appreciates the cold comfort of this cell and this horrible thin mattress. Every moment he doesn't have to face his captors and his torturers is a treasure to him, even if it means total solitude. And a shitty mattress is better than no mattress at all, especially after fourteen hours of scrubbing lab equipment. When he collapses onto it at the end of the night, he wishes he could hug the damn thing.

With his chains on, the best he can do is curl his fingers into it.


	47. Day 47

A sing-song ringtone cuts through the plodding hum of the lab. Jesse looks at Todd out of the corner of his eye while Todd scrambles to unzip his Tyvek suit in order to get the burner out of his pocket. "Hey," he says into the receiver, beaming in a way that tells Jesse it's Lydia on the line.

Todd turns his back to Jesse and walks to the far corner of the lab, but he doesn't leave the room this time. Uncle Jack must have lectured him about leaving Jesse unattended. Jesse turns pointedly to his work, doing his best to seem like he's not eavesdropping.

"Aw, I don't think it's gonna be a problem," Todd says in response to whatever Lydia just told him. "I mean, we been keeping an eye on her. And Uncle Jack's got a connection who says Mrs. White hasn't been giving any names at all. Not to the press or the D.A. or anything."

He pauses, listening.

"Yeah, but... I don't think that's got anything to do with Mrs. White. She got the message real good last time."

He pauses again. Jesse, meanwhile, remains frozen while he listens, though he keeps his back to Todd.

"Well, yeah. She moved. But it's not like we didn't find her again right away. ...You want us to go back in?"

Jesse holds his breath.

Todd's next words sound uncomfortably strained: "Yeah, I guess. Assess the situation. Yeah. Yeah, see you Tuesday."

As Todd hangs up, Jesse comes back to life and returns to his measurements with a hurried scuttle. He desperately wants to ask what that was about, but he's pretty sure that showing any interest in Mrs. White's well-being will only give Todd extra collateral to use against him.


	48. Day 48

Jesse replays that phone conversation over and over in his head, guessing at the things Lydia was saying. It sounded like she was just worried Mrs. White would talk. But Jesse can't imagine that she would. Mrs. White loathed her husband and Jesse both, and she could've easily ratted them out, but she lied to her own family to cover up the whole meth business. Why would she start spilling secrets now, when everything's more dangerous than ever?

It seems to Jesse that making contact with Mrs. White would be all-risk, no-benefit for Todd and the gang. Which—he realizes suddenly, his heart lifting—might be the whole plan. Maybe it's a trap. Maybe the police will be waiting when Todd pays Mrs. White a visit.

"Please," Jesse whispers into the concrete wall, pressing his forehead to it, and goes still in prayer.


	49. Day 49

"Hey, Jess?"

Jesse looks up from the tray of ice, resting his hammer on the edge of the table. "What's up, Todd?"

Todd, who's been busy weighing bags of meth, now leans against one of the machines and props his chin up on his arm. It's the closest he gets to looking pensive. "You met Mrs. White, right?"

There isn't a point in lying. Jesse had mentioned her in his confession. "Yeah," he says. "I mean, just for a couple minutes. I don't really know her."

"Yeah, but what'd you think about her?"

That's more difficult to answer. Jesse isn't sure he has a clear opinion, let alone one that won't get Mrs. White in any trouble. She never liked him, sure. Actually, she was a huge bitch to him. And he almost burned her house down. But he doesn't want her to _die_.

At the same time, if Lydia's setting Todd up, then Jesse doesn't want Todd to back down from whatever mission she gave him. So what does he say?

"Um," he stalls.

Todd waits, watching him with unblinking eyes.

"She seemed scared, you know? Scared, but smart. Like she'd do whatever it took to stay outta trouble. Kinda—Kinda like Lydia."

At the mention of Lydia's name, Todd perks up a bit. "Yeah?" He gives it a moment's thought. "Yeah… I could see that. So you don't think she's talking to anybody about us?"

"They woulda done something already if she was, right?" Jesse answers carefully. "I mean, if she didn't even talk when you guys offed her sister…"

Todd's forehead wrinkles. "Gosh, Jess. We never killed Mrs. Schrader. Didn't I promise?"

Jesse's mouth drops open. There are weights around his heart, heavy weights for every person he's gotten killed, and they drag him down further and further each day. Now one of those weights is lifted and he soars, however briefly, on a feeling he's forgotten: happiness. Tears gather in his eyes, blurring his vision. Mrs. Schrader isn't dead. He didn't kill Mrs. Schrader.

"Jess?"

"Yeah, sorry," Jesse says with a sniff, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile. He gestures vaguely to the scars on his head, where his skull met concrete during Todd's interrogation. "I guess I forgot."

"Do you think we oughta?"

"What?"

"Kill 'em," Todd says, slow because Jesse seems slow today.

" _No!_ " Jesse answers too sharply, leash rattling as he jumps back. He takes a breath, trying to force himself to a more even tone: "No, no. Mrs. Schrader doesn't even know anything. And Mrs. White, she… Well, Mr. White—" He hates saying that name. "—wouldn't want anything to happen to either of 'em. So… So maybe just remind her? I mean—she's smarter than me, so she doesn't need the reminders you use with me, either. Maybe just… Maybe just like a note? Just go and leave her a note or something, if you're worried."

Despite his efforts, his voice has gotten increasingly shrill. His heart is in his throat.

Todd considers those words and the sight of Jesse, panicked and wide-eyed before him. He lifts his chin up off his arm and straightens his posture. "You really like those ladies, huh," he observes.

Jesse shakes his head adamantly at that. "No! No, I don't. Just—Just Mr. White, you know. You know how he is about family."

Whether that registers or not, Jesse can't tell. "You don't have to be scared," is Todd's vague reply as he ambles to Jesse's side. Gently, he pries the hammer out of Jesse's hand. "Why don't you take a break and calm down? I can do this part."

Jesse swallows hard and nods, turning away.


	50. Day 50

He should have taken the hammer to Todd's temple. He should have smeared Todd's brains all over the floor.

Now everything is quiet up above and Jesse has a horrible feeling he knows where they've gone.


	51. Day 51

Two days of silence in a row.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe it was a trap.

Maybe Lydia ratted them all out and it's over.


	52. Day 52

Maybe no one knows that he's still alive.

Maybe no one told the cops.


	53. Day 53

Maybe he isn't alive.

"Jesse…"

Maybe this is Hell.

"Jesse, your body is running dangerously low on electrolytes. Sodium, potassium, calcium…"

"Shut up," Jesse groans, though the rumble of his own voice makes his dry throat burn.

"…And when they're gone, your brain ceases to communicate with your muscles. Your lungs stop breathing. Your heart stops pumping—"

"I said shut up," Jesse hisses, squeezing his eyes shut.

But he can't shut out Walt's voice. The old man's whispering right in Jesse's ear, gleeful and cruel: "They'll never find you. If they find this place at all—and I doubt they will, given that the Aryan Brotherhood isn't known for its pristine record-keeping—you'll be long dead. What do you think? How long before the police get here? Three months? Four?"

Jesse lets out an animalistic cry, trying to throw his hands over his ears. He can't quite reach without the chains pulling taut across his throat and choking him.

"Oh, yes. That isn't such a bad idea, killing yourself before the dehydration really sets in."

"I'm not gonna die in here," Jesse snarls.

"You will," Walt taunts. "You will, and if you're too much of a coward to do it yourself, I'll do it for you. You're going to die, Jesse, for what you did to my family."

Jesse's fingers dig into the back of his neck as he curls in on himself. The chains tighten, cutting off his breath.

Rough hands grab him by the shoulders and drag him to his feet.


	54. Day 54

"Christ, you didn't even leave him a couple bottles of water? I dunno, some cereal? Nothing?"

…

"Four fuckin' days, Toddy. You know what happens to a man four days in the desert with no water?"

…

"No—Hey, no. You're not in trouble. I don't give a shit about him. I'm just saying."

Jesse opens his eyes but his vision is blurred. He can barely make out the shape of the man across the room.

"No. You think I can't handle taking care of a rat for a little while? You enjoy your date. I got this."

Uncle Jack snaps his burner shut and tosses it onto the desk, turning to face Jesse. He sucks at his teeth while he takes in the sorry sight before him. "I shoulda just shot you," he tells Jesse. "Woulda been the Christian thing. You oughta see yourself right now. Turds floating in my toilet prettier than you."

Jesse blinks at him, uncomprehending.

"Great. You probably went full retard on us, too." Jack waves a hand. "Roll over. You still know what 'roll over' means, right? Roll onto your side so you don't choke."

When Jesse still fails to respond, Uncle Jack grabs hold of his sleeve and tugs him into position. "Waste of my fuckin' time, that's what you are," he grumbles to himself, twisting the cap off a bottle of Gatorade. "You better be able to keep this shit down. Ain't calling a vet just to fix up a rat. This is your one and only chance, buddy. Drink for your life."

Despite the harsh words, Jack knows what he's doing and he doesn't try to rush the process. He only forces Jesse to swallow a sip.

Jesse, for his part, barely registers who it is that's caring for him. Nausea and exhaustion, it turns out, are capable of drowning out the worst fears.


	55. Day 55

The heat of sunlight on his face wakes Jesse. He blinks his eyes open and regrets it immediately when he's temporarily blinded by the brightness of it, turning his face away from the window.

He's in a bed, he realizes as his cheek hits a soft pillow. He would almost be comfortable—if his arms weren't suspended above his head, his wrists chained to the bedposts. He tries to move his legs and finds that his ankles are restrained, too.

He doesn't remember how he got here or how long it's been or what's been done to him. He isn't sure if he's still on the compound or somewhere else entirely. Sick anxiety twists his stomach and his only solace is that he doesn't think he's been touched. He isn't in pain.

...Yet.

The chains rattle and clank against the metal headboard, acting as an alarm. About thirty seconds after Jesse starts moving around, the bedroom door opens with a creak that sends goosebumps over his skin.

"Well, well," says Uncle Jack. "Sleeping Beauty finally got her ass up."

Jesse stops moving and shrinks back as Jack steps into the light, bending over him with squinting eyes.

"You think you'll be able to keep down some toast?"

That isn't the question Jesse expected to hear. He doesn't have an answer ready.

" _Well?_ "

"Yes," Jesse says quickly, agreeing just for the sake of agreeing. "Yeah."

"Good, 'cause this ain't the goddamn IHOP. Toast is all you're getting." He leaves the room and returns a moment later to toss a slice of bread onto Jesse's chest. It's already cold and stale, probably a few days old. Something someone had leftover from breakfast, no doubt. Maybe straight out of the garbage can.

Jack reaches to unlock the cuff around Jesse's right arm, freeing it so he can feed himself. "Try anything funny and I'll shove that down your throat and watch you choke on it," Uncle Jack tells him.

Jesse doesn't know what he could possibly try. He can barely move enough to eat, and Jack remains out of arm's reach, staring at him the whole time. The toast scratches his parched throat, and it's only when he's finished with it that Jack hands over an open bottle of Gatorade. Jesse drinks too fast and sputters.

"You kidding me?" Jack sneers, slapping the back of Jesse's head. "Pull yourself together, you little shit."

For some reason, that does it. That simple ridicule. As if nearly dying of dehydration is his own fault, as if he's the one who chained himself to this bed. Jesse turns a baleful glare to Jack, letting go of whatever dread he had a moment ago.

"Ohooo," Jack laughs. "He's pissed now. What're you gonna do about it, huh? You toss that drink at me and stain my boots, you ain't getting another one."

Jesse throws the bottle.

He misses Jack by about two feet, which sends the man into hysterics and applause. "Boy, I hope you never tried out for Little League."

"What's the deal with this shit?" Jesse snaps, his voice too raspy to shout as loud as Jack deserves. "You don't want me here. Why don't you just kill me already while he's not here to stop you?"

"What, who?" Jack replies, before he puts it together and throws his arms out with a derisive laugh. "Todd? You think _Todd's_ stopping me? I do whatever the hell I want. If I wanted to kill you, nothing Todd could do would get in my way, you understand?"

No, Jesse doesn't understand.

"Think about it," Jack says as he grabs hold of Jesse's wrist and wrenches it back forcefully, cuffing it to the bedpost again. "And rest up. You'll be back to work tomorrow." He slaps Jesse's cheek with the back of his hand before heading out of the room.


	56. Day 56

"Gosh, I'm real sorry, Jess," Todd says as they march across the lot towards the meth lab. "I thought it was only gonna be a couple days, but then we got wrapped up in the job, and… Anyway, I hope Uncle Jack wasn't too rough with you."

"He was fine," Jesse murmurs. Relatively speaking, that isn't a lie, and that both surprises and unnerves Jesse. Aside from feeding him and marching him to the bathroom, Jack left him alone the whole time.

"Good. I think he's really starting to warm up to you."

Jesse wouldn't go that far. But he nods in agreement.


	57. Day 57

"Can I ask you something?" Jesse mumbles reluctantly as he pulls off his ventilator.

Todd gives him a surprised look. Jesse had been silent through the whole cook. Todd figured that his throat still hurt from being so dry for so long. "Yeah," he answers. "Sure."

"I was just wondering how things went." Jesse's eyes are downcast, fixed on the rubber mask between his fingers. "Like, if everything went okay."

"With Mrs. White?"

Jesse nods, willing dark images to leave his mind. All the things that Todd and Kenny and Lester and the rest might do to a woman if they got the chance. God help her.

"Aw, Lydia changed her mind," Todd answers with a crooked little smile. "Well, I mean, more like she figured some stuff out and gave us a different job. That's why it took so long to get back. We hadda drive down to Houston."

Jesse doesn't ask about the new job. He shuts his eyes and quietly thanks the Lord or whoever might be listening, then gives a slight nod.

"Speaking of," Todd says, dragging Jesse right back into a state of dread for the two second pause before the next words: "We've got some cleaning to do tomorrow. Get lots of rest, okay? You look tired."

He can't guess what on Earth they need to be cleaning up for, when they're all usually happy to leave this place in a perpetual state of filth that'd give Walter White an aneurysm, but Jesse nods anyway. "Okay."


	58. Day 58

After sleeping at the bottom of a urine-soaked hole for nearly two months, Jesse isn't personally fazed by the grime they find around the lab. He couldn't care less about the product, only maintaining (and slowly improving) its purity for the sake of staying alive. It isn't his art anymore. It isn't clean. As for the state of the lab, it suits these people perfectly. It's disgusting.

Jesse remembers designing this equipment with Walter White. It's a million-dollar setup and they're letting it fall to ruin. The dust blows in from the desert through wide-open doors and coats everything in a fine reddish layer. A couple of machines are actually rusting from exposure to the elements. And forget one fly; this place is swarming with them, and they're always settling on Jesse's skin or getting stuck in the mixtures so that he spends at least fifteen minutes per cook picking them out by hand.

As usual, Jesse has to do most of the cleaning by himself. Only, unlike usual, today he's forced to work harder. Todd usually lets him go after an hour of scraping vestiges from the tanks, but today he's marching around like an SS officer, running gloved fingers over every surface he passes and then ordering Jesse to scrub it again. Jesse can practically hear Mr. White in his voice when he does that.

Despite that, Jesse finds himself working slowly so that he can stay in the lab even longer. The cage used to seem like a refuge. Now he's avoiding it and its whispering darkness. The lab is full of movement and light and sound, Todd's reflection gliding along metallic surfaces and endless prattling about how Lydia's eyes sometimes look green but then sometimes they look brown, and sometimes they even look purple if she's wearing bright blue.

Jesse cleans until his fingers are cracked and bleeding. By nightfall, the lab shines.


	59. Day 59

After bathing him and dressing him in fresh clothes, Todd does a hack job of shaving Jesse's face and cutting his hair. Jesse tries to sit still and just take it, but after what seems like the twentieth time of Todd fumbling with and nearly dropping the trimmers, Jesse offers, "I can do it if it's easier."

Todd knows better. "Almost done," he replies, giving Jesse an _oh, you_ kind of smile.

"Okay." Jesse doesn't press further. After a pause, however, he has another question, which he brings up gently: "Um, can I ask what you're getting me ready for? I mean, I'm real grateful. I like it when you clean me and stuff. I was just wondering what's the… you know… the occasion."

"We're getting a special visitor," Todd beams. "I wanted to make sure everything looks real nice. She likes it when things look nice."

Lydia.

"Yeah," Jesse agrees. "Yeah, I remember that about her. She dressed fancy."

"We'll probably be working when she comes by," Todd goes on, "so I wanted you to look clean, too."

"Got it." It's a struggle to keep his face neutral, to keep the hope out of his eyes. Lydia has some kind of plan. Coming all the way to the lab has got to mean something. She's never done it before, in all the time Jesse's been there.

"Hey, Jess?" Todd lowers the clippers for a moment, stepping around to look Jesse in the eye. "You're gonna be good, right? No scaring her?"

"I would never scare her," Jesse promises, meeting Todd's gaze and holding it. "We were like friends, before. You know, I kinda saved her life."

"Really?"

"Yeah. There were, um, some concerns. Back when the DEA was sniffing around her. Mike thought she was working with 'em, so he wanted to take her out before she could lead 'em to us. But I talked him out of it. I said she seemed like a nice lady and we oughta give her a chance. So he let her live. Good thing, right?"

"Yeah," Todd answers, ponderous. "Yeah, you did real good, Jess." After a moment of further contemplation, he smiles and strokes Jesse's freshly-shaved cheek.


	60. Day 60

Todd keeps checking his watch all day. It seems like he's glancing at it every few minutes. Somehow, that makes the day feel like it's dragging on. Jesse isn't even trying to pay attention, but he can't help noticing. He catches the movement out of the corner of his eye while he shuffles up and down the dog run, carrying on with the cook.

Since Todd is so distracted, Jesse can afford to do some thinking of his own. He tries to silently sort out Lydia's motivations, her plans, whatever reason she might have for coming here herself. As cautious as she was about the methylamine pickup, he's having trouble imagining her standing in an actual meth lab. A meth lab run by psycho Neo-Nazis.

If the original setup—the one that involved Mrs. White—fell through, then maybe this is Plan B. And if the DEA's involved, then Lydia herself probably won't be showing up at all. It'll be a swarm of cops instead.

Jesse glances around while he picks up a box of aluminum, searching discreetly for the best spot to hide in a shootout. Unfortunately, there isn't a whole lot of cover he can reach as long as he's chained to the run. His best bet would be to try and duck behind the settling tank. But one stray bullet or a ricochet spark could set off an explosion that'd take him out for sure if he was standing there.

How bad would it hurt if he tried to hit the ground instead? Are the chains around his waist strong enough to snap his spine?

Maybe he's kidding himself, planning to survive. Todd would probably shoot him first. That's what Todd does to witnesses. Todd would shoot Jesse and then himself. Like it's nothing.

Of course, the cops might not be involved at all. Lydia's sneaky and Jesse hasn't forgotten that. She has her own way of doing things, putting hits out on people and such. If she's looking for a way to sever this whole business relationship, she might be orchestrating another kind of raid. In that case, what Jesse's going to have to do is convince her that he's on her side. He'll have to somehow convince her the second he sees her, before she plays her hand.

No matter what, Jesse's at her mercy. He knows that. The only hope he has is that she'll remember what he did for her.

A sudden, shrill ringtone startles Jesse. He nearly drops the aluminum.

"Oh, hi, Lydia," Todd answers his phone with a smile.

Losing track of himself, Jesse stops what he's doing to watch and listen.

The smile fades from Todd's face. "No problem. Yeah. Yeah. Tomorrow? Sure, I'll meet you at the gate myself."

Todd notices Jesse staring at him and gives him a look that asks: _Why aren't you working?_ Jesse jumps back to life and turns away.

Tomorrow. Whatever happens, it happens tomorrow.


	61. Day 61

Todd brings him to the lab first thing in the morning and leaves him there to work alone. Jesse wouldn't mind it so much, normally, but today his stomach is twisting in nervous knots and if he'd eaten at all earlier he might be sick now. Instead he feels lightheaded. At least he can take his time with the cook while no one's watching him. He stops now and then to just lean against one of the tanks and try to settle his heart.

As the day goes on, Jesse starts to wonder if Lydia hasn't changed her mind again. Rescheduled, maybe, or cancelled altogether. He doesn't know if the thought fills him with disappointment or relief, and he tries to assuage his dizziness by focusing on his tasks.

Jesse has nearly convinced himself that he won't see Lydia at all when the sound of an opening door immediately to his right draws his attention away from the batch of crystal he's just finished weighing. He looks up to find himself face-to-face with her. If he'd take just two steps forward, he could reach out and touch her.

He doesn't know what Todd was talking about. Her eyes look black from here; not green or purple or whatever, but black and wide and utterly horrified. Her mouth drops open but she doesn't scream. She doesn't even seem to be breathing. She looks frozen like that.

Jesse's afraid that if he says anything, he'll set her off. He takes a step back, instead, retreating from the scale to give her some space. Maybe to make the scarring of his face a little less blatant, too. That's it, isn't it? She's mortified by what they've done to him.

She moves, finally, her gaze lowering to the shackles around his ankles, to the chains around his waist and up to the dog run that keeps him trapped in the center of the lab. The examination feels like it takes an eternity, but the reality is that only a few seconds pass before her eyes resettle on Jesse's face. He thinks he can see tears brimming there, in her eyes.

The door opens again and Todd strides in, smiling and oblivious to the exchange he's interrupting.

Lydia's lips pull back, teeth bared as she wheels around to face Todd. "What is he _doing_ here?" she demands, outraged.

Todd sends a confused glance in Jesse's direction. "What? What's wrong?"

Jesse shakes his head helplessly, like he has no idea, though he feels a giddiness beginning to build in his chest. Did Lydia not know what they were doing to him, after all? Is she shocked enough to demand his release? Her righteous anger fills him with renewed hope. After all, she might be the only one Todd will obey over Uncle Jack.

With a swipe of her hand in Jesse's direction, Lydia hisses, "I don't want to see _this_."

It's Jesse's turn to be confused. He looks at her. He didn't hear that right, did he?

"Did he do something to you?" Todd asks, looking between the two of them with a darkening expression.

" _No_ , Todd," she nearly shrieks, turning her back to Jesse entirely. "It's—I'm not here to see things like—like _this_. For the love of God, put him away."

What is she saying? Jesse moves forward, leash rattling as he tries to get closer to her again, but all of a sudden Todd's between them. Jesse watches helplessly over Todd's shoulder as Lydia marches straight out the door without another glance back to him.

"I told you not to scare her," Todd says, seizing Jesse by the jaw to redirect his gaze back to him.

"I didn't," Jesse mumbles. It's hard to talk with fingers digging into his cheek. "I didn't do anything."

"You said she was your friend." Todd's grip hardens even though his voice is soft.

"I thought—"

Jesse doesn't get a chance to finish the sentence.


	62. Day 62

His head is splitting. He isn't exactly sure what wakes him: the pain or the raucous voices outside. They're indistinct, alternating between laughter and arguing from the tone of it, but Jesse can't make out the words. Everything seems muffled. Echoing.

As he comes to, he realizes he isn't in his cage. He's back in the tool shed, duct-taped to a chair so tightly that he can't so much as slump forward. His arms and legs have gone numb from being restrained for however many hours it's been.

He can't breathe very well. His whole face feels swollen, his nose probably broken. His mouth tastes like old blood.

His head lolls to the side as he tries to get a look around. Between the darkness and his dizziness, he can't see much, but he figures out at least that no one else is in there will him. From the noise outside, however, it sounds like that'll change soon. They might even be tossing a coin to see who gets a shot at him first.

Finally, it's Uncle Jack who enters the shed. Alone.

"Boy," he says, punctuating with a whistle. "You fuck up like it's some kinda chronic condition."

Jesse knows better than to say anything. He keeps his eyes averted.

"Still don't know your place." Jack circles him like a shark with leisurely steps. "What'd you think, huh? What'd you think? She'd take one look at you, fall in love with your pretty blue eyes and try to save you?"

Jesse turns his face away.

Uncle Jack kicks at his chair. "I asked you a question, rat."

Jesse doesn't look up. "...I was just trying to work."

"Yeah, I bet you were," Jack snorts. "Hey, you know we got cameras in there, right? Yep. You know what I saw? You know what I saw in the video?"

"Nothing. 'cause nothing happened."

Jack snickers again. "You must think I'm some kinda stupid. You put yourself right in front of her and you let her get a good long look at you and I know why. See, I _know_ what you were trying to do." He stops right in front of Jesse and crouches down, his face so close that Jesse can feel the man's breath on him. "You gone your whole damn life like that, haven't you? Worming your way in. Spoiled little pretty-boy with the white teeth and the sad eyes. You think you'll just get whatever you want if you pout enough. 'cause that's how it works, right? On the outside. Everybody falling all over you. Even your old pal Heisenberg. Shit, you hooked him real good."

Jesse twitches, but he doesn't say a word.

Uncle Jack nods to himself and pauses in his speech long enough to light a cigarette. "Lemme tell you," he goes on, exhaling a stream of smoke into Jesse's face, "you ain't outside anymore. Nobody here loves you. Nobody here's ever gonna love you. One of these boys might get lonely and turn you out and they still won't love you. Fuck you one second and kill you the next.

"And the Quayle woman?" Jack pauses again to take another drag, chuckling on the exhale. "Goddamn, if she ain't the worst of us."

In a blur of movement too fast for Jesse to even register, Uncle Jack seizes him by the hair and yanks his head back. He pries Jesse's jaw open and stubs his cigarette out onto the roof of Jesse's mouth, smiling as Jesse chokes out a scream. Then he wipes his hand off on Jesse's cheek and leans in to whisper in his ear, "Toddy's in the lab right now, cookin' up a batch without you. And when he's proved himself to that cunt? Well, that's the end of you. Even he don't wanna see your bitch face 'round here no more."

Jack releases him with a rough shove and Jesse curls in on himself as much as he can.

"See what I'm talking about? Turning you out."

"I didn't do anything," Jesse whimpers.

Uncle Jack rolls his eyes. "Jesus, really, with this shit?" He backhands Jesse so hard that the chair and Jesse both topple to the ground. "You ain't even gonna try and go out like a man?"

The fall splinters something in the chair. Jesse can feel its joints starting to give as he writhes on the floor. Jack lands a kick to his stomach, knocking the wind out of him but also knocking something free. Jesse can finally move his left arm. Gasping and gagging, he strikes out at Uncle Jack.

The wood that's still taped to his forearm extends its reach. It connects with Jack's skull.

While the old man is reeling, Jesse throws himself back against the ground—once, twice—until the rest of the chair cracks into pieces. Then he rolls onto his feet, staggering before he swings at Uncle Jack again.

Jack catches his arm and twists it back as he straightens up, raising his eyes to Jesse with a wild grin plastered on his blood-streaked face. "That's more like it."

Jesse lets out a roar and throws himself forward, trying to smash his forehead into Jack's nose. But Jack flips the velocity around on him, and somehow Jesse ends up sprawled back on the floor with Jack's boot planted on his chest.

Without lifting his foot, Jack reaches over to grab a crowbar off the wall. "You ever been fucked with one of these before?" he asks, increasing the pressure of his heel into Jesse's solar plexus. "I oughta get Lester in here. He'd enjoy this a whole lot more than—"

Someone throws the door open.

Uncle Jack turns. "Speak of the devil."

"—Boss, there's a fire!"

The grin slips off Uncle Jack's face. "You gotta be kidding me." He gives Jesse one last exasperated look before bashing him upside the head with the crowbar.


	63. Day 63

Strangely, the pain in Jesse's head has lifted. Or he fails to notice it so much, his mind fogged over with a warm and vaguely familiar dreaminess. He comes out of his sleep slowly and only thanks to some stubborn part of him that insists on sloshing back to life when it would be so, so much easier to let go.

And even with that determination, his brain feels like it's dragging its feet. It takes him a century to open his eyes.

"He's awake," calls out a voice to his right. Jesse tries to look and see who's talking, but the whole room flips upside down when he turns his head. He groans and closes his eyes again.

Footsteps—heels on linoleum—announce a new arrival. "Thank you," says a woman's voice. "Would you excuse us? I'll be fine, Todd. Just a few minutes. Thank you."

When the door shuts, the room goes so quiet that Jesse is convinced for a moment that he's alone. Then the clacking heels approach his bedside, though his visitor comes to a halt several feet out of reach.

"Jesse?"

"Mm," Jesse answers, only half-aware.

"I'm afraid I don't have much time. I—I realize it's difficult for you to remain alert in your current condition, but if you could… If you could just open your eyes and nod, so I know you're paying attention?"

Jesse opens his eyes. Lydia is standing in the middle of the room, wringing her hands.

"Thank you," she says, only meeting his gaze for a moment before turning her face away. "I was hoping we could discuss this… arrangement. Can you understand me at all right now: yes or no?"

"I hear you," Jesse croaks. But it's like he's hearing her from a hundred miles away. "What's wrong with me?"

"I had them give you something for the pain."

Heroin. That's why the sensation is so familiar.

"Help me," he pleads, before anything else has a chance to interrupt. "Help me get outta here."

Lydia spreads her hands out in front of her, almost as if she's pushing something away. "You know I can't do that," she answers tersely. "But I _am_ sorry. Truly. Our former associate put us all in a very difficult position here, and…"

Jesse loses track of whatever she says next. A difficult position. A _difficult position_. Jesse's the only one whose position is currently _drugged_ and _beaten_ and _chained to a bed_. His face grows hot, tears of fury spilling over onto his cheeks.

"...so I—Jesse?" She's finally looked back at him long enough to notice. "Are you following me here?"

"Are you gonna kill me?" he asks, not knowing whether he wants the answer to be yes or no.

"God, no," Lydia gasps, affronted by the very idea—or at least pretending to be. "No, Jesse. Don't you see? That's exactly why I'm here right now: to talk options. And, by the way, I'm so sorry about our misunderstanding the other day. I had no idea they would do this to you."

Jesse sniffs and shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. "No. No, you had every idea. You knew exactly what was happening. And you were gonna let it happen, too, 'til Todd fucked up the cook and you figured out you still need me." When he reopens his eyes and fixes them on her, he can see that he's right. It's written all over her face.

Nevertheless, Lydia keeps denying it. She places her hand over her heart with an offended scoff. "Jesse, I realize that everything has been extremely trying for you. But I'm here as your friend, trying to improve the situation as best I can. Let's not antagonize each other."

She's a much worse liar than Mr. White.

"What're you gonna do for me?" Jesse asks outright. "To keep me cooking for you."

Lydia clears her throat and smooths out her features. Talk of business puts her more at ease. Terms rather than sentimentality. "You'll remain under Todd's care. I've instructed him that these savage beatings have to stop—"

"'cause I can't cook for you if I can't stand up."

Lydia acknowledges that with an uncomfortable nod. "Well… yes. But they're also completely unnecessary. I think that we all understand each other quite clearly now."

"What else?"

"Three meals a day. A regular supply of water. I've also suggested some upgrades to your… accommodations."

"You're giving me a room?"

"Well… no. Your escape attempt last month makes that too risky for us. But your, ah, current domicile will be made more comfortable for you."

"Jesus Christ, lady," Jesse laughs bitterly, the sound more like a brittle cough. "Do you hear yourself right now? You're talking about a cage. The cage where they throw me every night when they're finished kicking the shit outta me, where my roof is a plastic sheet and my bathroom is a goddamn bucket. That ain't a _domicile_."

Lydia shuts her eyes for a moment, steeling herself against everything he just said. When she looks up again, she's looking at the far wall instead of him. "I'll continue checking in with Todd," she goes on, as if Jesse said nothing at all, "but you won't be seeing me again."

Jesse drags his teeth across his lower lip. The glare he fixes on her is as hateful as any he ever set on his former partner. Uncle Jack wasn't kidding. Every single one of them is out to fuck him. Even Lydia. "I saved your life," he hisses at her.

"And I just saved yours," Lydia answers coolly, brushing off her sleeves. She turns for the door and addresses him without looking back, "I hope you learn to make the best of this situation. You really are remarkably talented. It'd be a tragedy to see you throw your life away."

"Fuck you," he calls after her as she departs, his voice too broken and feeble to carry to her ears.


	64. Day 64

Todd's holding a brown paper bag under one arm when he walks into the bedroom. Jesse only glances at him for a second before returning his gaze to the ceiling, but he knows what's in that bag and he knows what Todd intends to do with it.

"Hey, Jess," Todd greets him softly, pulling up a chair. "How's your head?"

Jesse sets his jaw, ignoring Todd.

"It's alright, you can keep resting. I'm just here with your drugs, okay?" No pretense to it. Todd opens up the bag and pulls out a kit, preparing the heroin and the needle right there next to Jesse, on the mattress.

Jesse tries to keep staring at the ceiling, but his eyes eventually slide to Todd and he watches the rest of the process. Just looking at the spoon and the syringe fills him with a fucked-up kind of nostalgia, a longing that's far sweeter than the tragedy it _ought_ to be reminding him about.

Todd meets his eyes with a timid smile before reaching over to tourniquet Jesse's arm. "Try not to move."

"Okay," Jesse breathes. He hadn't intended to answer, but he wants Todd to get on with it. As soon as possible.

Todd clearly has practice with this. Jesse wonders distantly if he used to help his mother shoot up, because Todd himself doesn't seem the type. With the skill of a nurse, he finds a good vein and punctures it, gentle and swift. If Todd's still angry, he isn't showing it. After he removes the tourniquet, his palm strokes Jesse's cheek just like usual and he murmurs, "That's good, Jesse."

Jesse immediately feels like he's sinking into the bed and the pillows. His lips part in a deep sigh and he nuzzles into Todd's hand, unconscious of his movements. Everything has all of a sudden become much more comfortable than before. If this is the only escape he can have, then he'll take it. He allows himself be carried away in the nod, leaving Todd to cradle his broken mortal body back in that room for as long as he likes.


	65. Day 65

As Jesse drags himself back to consciousness, he becomes aware of a pressure over his heart. And heat. Too much heat. The presence of another body beside him, embracing him. He welcomes it at first, in the moments before true wakefulness, where distant memory still convinces him that the company of someone in his bed is nothing but a comfort.

But the realization creeps up on him, and it sends icy chills down his spine that thrust him out of his sleep all at once. He starts, eyes popping open to find his fear confirmed: Todd is asleep beside him, one arm draped across his chest.

He jerks away as fast and far as he can—which is only a few inches, given his restraints. The handcuffs rattle on the bedposts and Todd stirs, too. He blinks his eyes open and gives Jesse a small, groggy smile. "Mornin'."

"What the fuck are you doing?" Jesse hisses, his entire body curled as far from Todd as he can get.

"Waking up, I guess," Todd answers with a short laugh, propping his chin up on his hand.

"I mean, what're you doing here?" A wave of nausea overcomes Jesse and he immediately regrets asking, because he's not sure he wants to know the answer.

Todd laughs again. "This is my room, silly. What, d'you think we gave you your own?"

"Get me outta here," Jesse demands, tugging at the handcuffs even though he can't possibly get farther away. "Get me out now. Put me anywhere else. I don't want—"

"Jesse, hey," Todd shushes him as he sits up, his expression shifting to what passes for concern. "You're gonna hurt yourself. Calm down." He reaches out for Jesse's wrist, which has already rubbed itself raw against the metal.

"Don't touch me!"

Todd frowns and takes Jesse's arm with a grip so firm and rough that it startles Jesse into submission. He trembles under Todd's hold, his breath coming in short and shaky bursts. "Relax," Todd tells him. "It's okay. You're safe."

How can he possibly be safe? He can't remember most of the last twenty-four hours, he's probably brain-damaged, he's been drugged, and he's chained to a bed. He's chained to Todd's fucking bed and he woke up to this psychopath spooning him like he's the guy's goddamn girlfriend. Jesse stares at Todd in unbridled horror, too afraid to even protest again because he knows he's one wrong word away from violence. The hand squeezing his arm tells him so. And he isn't sure he can survive another beating.

"I'm gonna give you some more H now, okay?" Todd isn't really asking. He continues staring into Jesse's eyes as he climbs off the bed, warning him as he releases his arm.

Even so, Jesse pleads weakly, "I don't want it."

"You need it," Todd insists as he opens up the kit and begins preparing the syringe. "You're too worked up. I don't want you to hurt your head."

"I'll be good, I swear…"

Todd remains unfazed, leaning in once he's got the shot loaded. "Hold still, Jess."

Jesse tosses his head from side to side and struggles in vain to shimmy out of reach. "I don't want it. I'll be good. I'll—"

With a weary sigh, Todd yanks Jesse's arm taut to expose his veins and jabs the needle in. Jesse chokes on a scream that dissolves into sobs, which die off within half a minute as the drug seizes him and sweeps him out of the nightmare and back into euphoria.


	66. Day 66

Todd isn't there when Jesse next wakes up. Judging from the light outside, it's early, maybe only a little after sunrise. The whole clubhouse is silent, which leads Jesse to assume they've all gone out to breakfast. Hopefully that, and not something more sinister. The thought that he might have put Brock in danger is too much for him to bear. If he lets himself follow that line of thinking while he's trapped here, he'll lose his mind.

He sucks in a few deep breaths to push back the panic attack that threatens to rise. Then he turns his attention outward, to the room that allegedly belongs to Todd. Now that he's looking at it, he can see why he didn't immediately place whose it was. There's nothing characteristic about the room whatsoever. No posters on the walls, no clothes strewn about on the floor, no magazines or video games or other things that usually belong to a guy Todd's age. If someone had asked Jesse to describe what he thought Todd's room would look like, he would have guessed there might be some dead-eyed babydolls involved, a few snuff films, and maybe stalker photos lining the walls—but there's nothing like that. There's nothing. Just plain furniture that looks like old and worn, like he's had it since he was a kid and never bothered replacing it because it still functions just fine.

Jesse pushes himself up on his elbows, trying to sit up and look around as best he can. There has to be something he can use to get the cuffs off. He doesn't have much hope for escape and knows better than to try, but his muscles are all locked up from being in the same position for... days, right? He isn't sure how many. The soreness from all of his thrashing and the earlier beatings is nothing right now compared to the cramping in his back and legs. He just wants to be able to move.

He tugs at the headboard, which rings out a _clink-clink-clink_ no matter how quiet he tries to be about it. The bedposts don't feel especially sturdy. If he was healthy, he'd have no problem tearing them off their joints. Unfortunately, he's anything but healthy. He guesses if he was in a hospital, they'd have him in the ICU for at least a week. If they thought he looked bad when Schrader beat him...

Too exhausted to keep trying, Jesse sinks back against the pillows. Maybe it isn't so bad. It's a bed, at least, and not a meat hook or a cell floor. It isn't freezing in here and it isn't sweltering, either. It's been worse than this. If he just relaxes and drifts back to sleep, it'll be one more day gone by.


	67. Day 67

Todd's sitting at the foot of the bed when Jesse wakes up. As soon as he sees Jesse's eyes open, he leans forward with a bright smile. "Hey. How you feeling today? Better?"

"Yeah," Jesse mumbles. The simplest answer. He's too groggy to get into a fight.

"I cleaned you while you were sleeping. Feels nice, huh?"

Feels creepy. Feels like a bad dream that never ends. Feels like his nausea is returning fast. "Yeah," Jesse says again, trying to sound grateful. Eager to skip over any discussion of what else Todd might have done while he was sleeping, he asks, "Hey, do you think you could... I got pins and needles, you know? You think you could help me up, walk me around a little?"

Todd looks mildly suspicious about the request, but he nods. "Sure." He unlocks Jesse's ankles first, then his wrists. Jesse remains still the whole time. If Todd was afraid that he'd suddenly jump to his feet and run, that fear is squelched when Jesse struggles to even sit up. Todd ends up having to slip an arm around him to help him off the bed. And Jesse, with no other choice, has to encircle his arms around Todd's shoulders to keep from collapsing.

They stand like that in their awkward embrace for almost half a minute, Jesse doing nothing more than letting the blood flow return to his limbs. Then Todd speaks up, "Can I ask you something, Jess?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do you keep doing this stuff?"

The words themselves could sound like a taunt if they weren't spoken so earnestly. When Jesse raises his eyes to Todd's face, he sees genuine confusion there.

"I'm not trying to pick on you," Todd adds quickly. "I mean, I just don't get it. You're not stupid, you know what'll happen, but you keep on lying and messing things up and… Just—why?"

"You're not kidding, are you," Jesse observes almost with wonder, still examining Todd's face. Searching for something. "It's like you got a human mask on, but there's nothing under there."

Todd doesn't say anything to that. He doesn't even look bothered. He's simply waiting for the answer to his question.

Jesse takes a breath, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "It's 'cause I was hoping... I hoped something'd change." After a contemplative pause, he adds, "I know better now."


	68. Day 68

"Hold his head up a little," Uncle Jack orders. "Tilt his chin up. So I can see him."

Todd repositions his hand against the back of Jesse's neck, gently lifting.

Jack shines a flashlight into both of Jesse's eyes. The brightness of it sends a sharp pain straight through Jesse's skull and he has to struggle to keep staring forward. Jack frowns thoughtfully to himself as he switches off the light and sits back. "Reckon it might be a couple more days. Week, maybe."

Todd begins to protest, "Lydia says we gotta—"

"Fuck what _Lydia_ says." Uncle Jack looks Jesse up and down, shaking his head. "If that bitch wanted him in working condition, she shoulda thought twice before flipping her shit. You put the rat in the lab right now, you're gonna have another fire on your hands. He can't even see straight." The next question is directed to Jesse himself, "Can you?"

"No, sir," Jesse answers dully.

"See, his brain's all shook up, Toddy. Might even be full of blood. You know what that means?"

Todd wrinkles his brow. "Means he might die?"

"Means he _will_ die. You put him back in the lab, guarantee he keels over in three hours tops."

When Todd glances at Jesse's face, Jesse's astonished to see concern in his eyes. Then again, he's probably just worried about what Lydia will say. "What do we do, Uncle Jack?" Todd asks.

"It's like a bruise, Toddy. Ain't nothing _to_ do. It'll go away long as you don't do anything that'll make it worse. Play nice with him a while if you wanna keep him around." Jack looks at Jesse again, his lip curling. "Else I could just put him outta his misery now and save us all the trouble."

"No, thanks, Uncle Jack," Todd replies quickly. "I still need him."

Jack lifts his eyebrows in disappointment, but he ruffles Todd's hair and keeps his thoughts to himself. "Then let him rest 'til he can walk on his own again. He can stay in here, meanwhile."

Jesse turns his head away from the both of them, his gaze drifting to the window. It's a clear day and the sky outside is a deep, dark blue. Uncle Jack and Todd keep talking, but their voices become a steady, buzzing background noise before fading altogether. The field of blue spreads out to fill the whole of Jesse's vision and darkens gradually to black as he sinks into sleep.


	69. Day 69

Todd has been staring at Jesse since they woke up. Not in a suspicious way, not like he thinks Jesse's up to something. It's a stare of deep interest. Jesse hesitates to think of it as worry, but it might very well be. Regardless, he finds it as unnerving as always. The best he can do is alternate between staring out the window—though there's very little to see from this angle on the bed—and feigning sleep.

Todd, meanwhile, does nothing. He seems perfectly content to sit and keep his vigil in silence. He breathes with his mouth hanging wide open in a way that would've gotten Jesse a scolding from his mother. Something about catching flies. Jesse never realized how grating it was before now and he finds himself being thankful to her for teaching him not to be a creepy fucking mouthbreather.

He wonders how his mother's doing now. Does she think he's dead? Does that make her happy or sad?

"What happened to your mom?" Jesse asks suddenly, surprising himself.

Todd's surprised, too. He'd assumed Jesse was asleep. He eases closer until he's sitting right up against Jesse. "I dunno," he answers, drawing a knee up to rest his chin atop it. "Haven't seen her since I was twelve. Uncle Jack says she probably ODed, but the police never found her."

"What about your dad?"

"Never knew him."

Jesse looks over and, sure enough, Todd doesn't look remotely sad. "So, Jack..?"

"Mom was gone about a week when Uncle Jack stopped by and found me at home by myself. I wasn't doing so bad on my own, but he said the state'd come for me if I stuck around there, so I moved in with him. Him and the rest of the guys took care of me ever since."

Jesse doesn't try to imagine what that was like. He suspects he already has a good idea.

"What about you?" Todd asks in a way that sounds overly polite, like he learned somewhere that when someone asks you a question about yourself, you're supposed to return the courtesy. "What're your folks like?"

Jesse should have considered this before he asked. He doesn't want Todd knowing shit-all about his family. "They hate my guts," he replies quickly. "Probably even more now than ever. But I ain't talked to them in years. I think I was dead to 'em a long time ago."

Todd gives a slow nod. "You make it pretty hard to care about you," he observes casually.

Jesse has a feeling he's supposed to be insulted by that. But—considering the source—he isn't. "I don't want the kinda caring most people wanna give me," he utters, sardonic, and shifts so that the chains around his wrists and ankles clink in punctuation.


	70. Day 70

"You sure you're okay like that?" Todd asks, his forehead wrinkled with uncertainty.

Jesse nods. "I'm okay. It feels good." Sitting up for what he hopes will be more than five minutes. Only one of his wrists is chained to the bed now and his legs are free. Todd's sufficiently convinced that he's not a flight risk in this state.

"Tell me if you start getting dizzy again." That's the real worry. Jesse's nearly fallen over more than once on the way to the bathroom.

"I'm good, seriously." Jesse nods to the mattress beneath him. "Ain't like I got far to fall."

Todd takes a seat beside Jesse, anyway. If he ends up slumping over, he'll be slumping right into Todd's arms. (Which is incentive enough to stay conscious.) "How's your head feeling?"

Jesse shrugs. "Not worse. Not really better, either."

"The H doesn't help?"

"It helps," Jesse says. "Just gotta be careful how much you're giving me."

"Lydia says you can have as much as you want," Todd's smiling like he just delivered a present. _Isn't it great?_

Jesse has to bite back a bitter reply. Yes, how considerate of Lydia, drugging him into complaisance. "It's just… It'd be bad if I ODed, right?"

Todd looks very serious all of a sudden, touching Jesse's arm as he leans closer. "I won't let that happen. I promise, Jess. I'll always be careful."

Jesse's starting to believe Todd when he says that kind of shit. The trouble is, Todd doesn't understand things everybody else does. Like the fact that people die without food. If Todd can't get through a meth cook without blowing something up, how's Jesse supposed to trust him with measuring out a nonlethal dose of heroin? One of these days, Jesse's sure, Todd will shoot him up with a milligram too much and that'll be it.

_...Hmm._

"You ever tried it?" Jesse asks.

"Me?" Todd laughs, shaking his head. "No, no. Uncle Jack always said it makes you slow, and I'm kinda slow already."

"You're missing out," Jesse sighs, easing into a more relaxed sprawl across the bed.

Todd shifts close to Jesse again, clearly interested. "What's it like?"

"Like Heaven," Jesse murmurs with a wistful smile. "Like nothing can touch you. Like God picked you up and wrapped you in love. It's incredible." He closes his eyes, turning his face skyward. "'specially the first time."

"That sounds beautiful," Todd marvels. His voice is soft, wavering on the edge.

Jesse knows when to leave the final push to the customer, like it's their decision and not his sell. So he lets out a quiet laugh, as if he's embarrassed by his own sentimentality. When he looks at Todd, he sees the gears turning in the guy's head, and he can tell the seed is taking root.


	71. Day 71

Jane's hand rests on his hip, fingernails tracing over the sharp curve of bone that's too prominent these days. She slides up against his back and nuzzles in close to brush a line of kisses over his neck. "This is kind of fucked up, isn't it?" she whispers as her lips reach his ear.

"Don't stop," he whimpers, grasping for her hand, holding on to make sure she doesn't slip away into the darkness.

"Don't worry. I won't."

"Don't leave," he adds, tears stinging his eyes as he squeezes them shut.

"I won't."


	72. Day 72

Todd stops halfway through folding his shirt, squinting at Jesse. "You doing alright there?"

Jesse nods silently, his cheek pressed against the cool window.

"Is it your head again?"

...In a sense.

"Yeah. Don't worry about it."

Todd tucks the shirt into his drawer and leaves the rest of the laundry alone for now, stepping closer to the bed. "You want me to..?" He gestures toward the kit.

"You think we could just—" Jesse stops himself, giving a slight shake of his head. "Nevermind. I shouldn't… I shouldn't be asking for extra stuff."

"No, it's okay," Todd says, leaning in. "What is it?"

Jesse dips his head, sheepish, though he looks up a moment later to meet Todd's eyes. "You got any weed? I know it sounds stupid, but it's like… Hanging out in here, spending all this time with you, you helping me out… It's like we're really friends now, you know? But it's weird, me getting high by myself while you're just stuck babysitting me. So I was thinking, maybe we could just smoke a joint together. Relax a little without me totally passing out."

Todd's eyes move over Jesse's face, scrutinizing. "Just weed?" he clarifies.

"Yeah. Just weed. You smoked before, right?"

"Yeah," Todd answers with a scoff. Who hasn't? He reaches out to squeeze Jesse's shoulder as he relinquishes, "Okay, I'll be back in a minute."

"Cool," Jesse says, patting Todd's hand before it slips away.


	73. Day 73

"What about Pat Benatar?"

Jesse exhales a stream of smoke, looking back to Todd with a tilt of his head. "Who?"

"You know. 'Love is a Battlefield'." At Jesse's increasingly confused look, Todd raises his eyebrows in disbelief. " _Seriously?_ You don't know it?"

Jesse snorts and shakes his head. "Sorry, man. The '80s ain't exactly my area of expertise, musically."

"Aw, but you gotta hear it. It's your song."

"What's that mean, my song?"

Todd holds up a finger while he rifles around in his pockets for his iPhone. Once he's got it, he searches through ringtones until he finds what he's looking for. "She Blinded Me With Science" starts playing over the tinny speakers. "See, this one's for Mr. White," he says, grinning at Jesse.

Jesse's lips twitch into a tight smile and he has to take another hit before he trusts himself to speak, "I get it."

"So this one would be yours," Todd goes on, scrolling through mp3s until Pat Benatar's ancient single pops up. He climbs onto the bed beside Jesse and holds the phone close to his ear so he can hear it more clearly. Jesse hands him the joint and indulges him in listening attentively.

He regrets surrendering that joint about thirty seconds in.

_We are strong  
No one can tell us we're wrong  
Searching our hearts for so long  
Both of us knowing  
Love is a battlefield_

Jesse nods, signalling that he's heard enough to get the idea, but Todd clearly misunderstands and thinks he's getting into it, because he starts bobbing his head to the beat. "It's great, right?"

_You're begging me go then making me stay  
Why do you hurt me so bad?  
It would help me to know, do I stand in your way?  
Or am I the best thing you've had?  
Believe me, believe me, I can't tell you why  
But I'm trapped by your love and I'm chained to your side_

Jesse swallows, his throat gone dry, and gestures for Todd to hand over the joint. Instead of returning it to him, Todd takes a hit himself, then seizes Jesse by the jaw and pulls his mouth open. He leans in to shotgun, blowing the smoke between Jesse's lips, but Jesse instinctively jerks away with wide eyes.

"It's okay," Todd reassures him, grasping for him again.

_We're losing control, will you turn me away  
Or touch me deep inside?  
And when all this gets old, will it still feel the same?  
There's no way this will die  
But if we get much closer, I could lose control  
And if your heart surrenders, you'll need me to hold_

The chain around Jesse's wrist goes taut as he tries to squirm as far from Todd as he possibly can. It isn't far enough. His breathing quickens with panic, close to hyperventilating, and he chokes on the smoke Todd forces into his lungs.

Todd laughs at Jesse's sputtering, slapping him lightly on the cheek. "You're doing it wrong," he chides.

"I don't—I don't like it like that," Jesse coughs.

"You gotta breathe _slow_ ," Todd explains with a shake of his head. His fingers return to Jesse's chin, gripping it, unrelenting. "Here, let's try it again."

_We are strong  
No one can tell us we're wrong  
Searching our hearts for so long  
Both of us knowing..._   



	74. Day 74

"You know, I was kinda worried things'd get worse," Todd says around a mouthful of macaroni and chesse, "after what happened with Lydia and Uncle Jack and everything. 'specially when Uncle Jack said you might die. But it's been a lot nicer, instead."

He pauses, waiting for Jesse to say something. But Jesse goes on eating, his eyes on his food.

"I mean, sharing a room, hanging out… Wouldn't it be great if it was always like this, Jess?"

Jesse puts his spoon down and looks at Todd finally as he swallows that last bite. He isn't sure if he's understanding correctly. "Like… Me living in here? With you? Like, permanent?"

"Yeah," Todd says with an enthusiastic nod. "Maybe we could get a bunkbed or something."

Jesse blinks slowly, still attempting to process Todd's proposal. "You want me staying in your room. Forever. What about your uncle? What about… What about all the stuff Lydia needs?"

"Aw, we'd still go to work. It's just we'd spend the rest of the time in here. And Uncle Jack's the one who didn't want me putting you outside yet, so…"

"Yeah, but that's just 'til I get better," Jesse points out. He isn't sure why he's arguing. He doesn't want to go back to the cage, even if it means spending every moment of the rest of his life at Todd's side. Hell, that gives him more opportunities to kill the guy. But Uncle Jack knows that, too. And Jesse doesn't think for one second that Uncle Jack's going to overlook that.

"I always wanted a brother," Todd says, so abruptly and with such earnestness that it shocks Jesse, who hadn't really thought Todd was capable of feeling that sentimental. And the next words drive straight into his heart, a knife twisting: "When Mr. White said you were like family to him, I didn't really get it. I mean, family's the only thing that's family, right? But I think I'm starting to get it now. You're real special, Jesse. I never met anybody like you before. You care so much about everything, even stuff that doesn't matter, like people you don't even know. It's like how big brothers act on TV; I didn't know anybody could really be like that."

Jesse gapes at Todd, speechless. He's lost his appetite, nauseated at the mention of Mr. White and overcome with a feeling he can't even name—because Todd… Todd sees him like _that?_

"Jess? You okay?"

He would love nothing more than to tell Todd just how much he hates him, actually. That he hopes Todd blows himself up or overdoses and shits himself to death. He wants to tell Todd that what's so special about him isn't special at all, that he's just not a psychopath like everyone in this family or gang or whatever it is. And—oh yeah—he already has a younger brother who's a better person than Todd can ever hope to be, and he's not going to even pretend to replace Jake with someone this repulsive, because he'd rather die than call Todd a brother.

But the lump in his throat keeps him mute. And the heat behind his eyes suddenly gives way to tears. He turns his face away, sucking in a sharp breath.

Todd gently takes the bowl from Jesse's hands and sets it aside for him. "Do you want the H?" he asks, apparently mistaking one pain for a different kind.

Jesse shakes his head. He reaches for Todd's arm. Pathetic and hating himself for it, he curls up against his worst enemy and gives in, crying on his shoulder.


	75. Day 75

When the cell phone rings, they both stop talking to look at it. Todd keeps it on top of the dresser on the other side of the room, where Jesse can't reach it. As close as they've grown in the past week, the reality hasn't changed: Jesse will never see or speak to anyone on the outside again.

_Lydia oh Lydia, say have you met Lydia  
Lydia, the Tattooed Lady_

Todd gives Jesse a look that makes his heart sink. It's uncomfortable; not quite apologetic, but as close as Todd gets to it. They both know what this is about. He's a little slower than usual as he gets up to answer, but his voice is cheerful when he greets her, "Hey, Lydia."

Jesse can't hear Lydia's side of the conversation. He sinks against the wall, his fingers running nervously over the cuff around his wrist.

Todd keeps his back to Jesse. It must be easier to focus that way. When Lydia finishes what seems like a very long speech on her end, Todd finally responds, "Yeah, but… Uncle Jack says he can't work 'til he stops getting dizzy."

Jesse swallows, twisting and untwisting the chain.

"Well, Uncle Jack says there'd probably be another fire. Or worse. Like, he might die."

Jesse winds the chain around his fingers, cutting off the blood flow to his fingertips.

"No, no. He's staying in my room."

Jesse lets go of the chain as Todd turns to look at him.

"Yeah, he's with me right now. You wanna talk to him?"

Todd turns away again as Lydia presumably says no. Jesse shuts his eyes.

"I don't think he's pretending. Yesterday was real bad. He couldn't stop—"

"Tell her I'll do it," Jesse interrupts. He knows well enough by now what the next step is, when Lydia wants something, when Lydia isn't convinced she can't get it. He'd rather skip the torture, the next beating or whatever she's about to order Todd to do.

"Sorry, hold on—" Todd looks at him again, eyebrows lifting in skepticism. "You sure, Jess?"

"We'll have to go slow. And I'll need you to help me. But I think we can do it together."

Todd gives an uncertain nod. It's a surprise to him, Jesse volunteering so readily to work without having to be forced. But he tells Lydia, "He says he can do it. We'll start tomorrow. Is that okay?"


	76. Day 76

Jesse's stomach turns as he steps into the lab, and it has little to do with the dizziness that's plaguing him. The lab has felt at times like a prison and at others like a sanctuary, but a new sensation grips him now. It might be Lydia's lingering presence, her influence over what happens here—what happens to _him_ —which he hadn't even imagined the last time he set foot in this room. It's as if all of his hope, violently dashed when Lydia turned on him, has stained every surface around him. Like blood.

Yeah. That's it. It feels like someone died here.

Todd's palm against the small of his back urges him forward. Jesse walks to the center of the lab and waits patiently while the shackles are rearranged with the leash. He stares at a dent in one of the machines where Todd had slammed him down and nearly shattered his nose.

There's Todd's hand again, brushing his arm. "You doing okay?" he asks Jesse.

Jesse nods and turns to give him a weak smile. "Yeah. Let's cook."


	77. Day 77

"Jesse, what are you doing?"

" _Cooking_ ," Jesse snaps, directing an irritated glare to Mr. White.

"Yes, I'm well aware of that," Mr. White replies snidely with a roll of his eyes. He gestures to the bucket in Jesse's hands. "I'm referring, however, to _that_."

"What about it?"

"We don't use platinum dioxide," Mr. White says, staring at Jesse as if he's lost his mind.

"Yeah, we do."

Jesse starts to turn, but Mr. White grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him, forcing Jesse to look him in the eye. "It's too dry," Mr. White tells him, frantic. "Jesse, are you listening to me? Platinum dioxide is pyrophoric. Without the hydrogen necessary for a heterogeneous reduction, you'll cause an explosion. We've been over this a thousand times. That's why we switched to a _mercury amalgam_ reduction!"

"What the hell're you talking about?"

"I was just asking if you're okay," Todd says, rubbing Jesse's shoulders. "You kinda spaced out there."

Jesse gives a sudden jerk, as if waking from a nightmare, and looks from Todd to the bucket in his hands. "Shit," he hisses under his breath, his heart pounding.

"What's wrong?" Todd asks.

"I forgot the aluminum."

Todd removes his hands from Jesse's shoulders to carefully pry the bucket away from him. "You're looking kinda pale."

Of course he is. He just realized he nearly blew up the entire lab. Jesse wipes the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, wobbling on his feet. The whole room seems to be growing darker, as if the lights are going out one by one in rapid succession. "I think I gotta sit down."

"But we're halfway through the—"

Jesse doesn't hear whatever Todd says next.


	78. Day 78

"See? What'd I tell ya?" Jack playfully slaps the back of Todd's head as he saunters into the room. "She might be hot pussy, but she don't know shit about neurology. Listen to your old Uncle Jack next time."

"Sorry, Uncle Jack," Todd mumbles.

"Aw, what do I care?" Jack flashes a grin at Todd that's gone by the time he turns to Jesse. "Alright, rat. How you feeling today? Better?"

"Yes, sir." He's back in bed with only one hand cuffed. He's about as comfortable as he ever gets anymore.

"What happened there yesterday? You passed out?"

"Um…" Jesse rubs the back of his neck, shrinking under Uncle Jack's scrutiny. "I guess."

Todd comes to the rescue, filling in helpfully, "He was getting some stuff and then he kinda stopped and, like, stared off. And he didn't hear me when I was talking to him. Then he just… fell over."

"You forget where you were?" Jack asks Jesse directly, eyes fixed on his face.

Jesse looks at him for only a split second before averting his gaze. He hesitates, assuming the wrong answer is going to end with another strong suggestion to put him down. "I was just confused," he answers finally.

"No shit," Uncle Jack chuckles. He turns back to Todd, who's making for better conversation. "You been feeding him?"

"Yeah," Todd replies. "Three times a day, fresh food and water."

"And Tylenol, like I told you, not aspirin?"

"No aspirin, right. No Tylenol, either. I've just been giving him H, 'cause he likes that. H and weed."

Jesse looks up sharply, lips parting on the verge of a protest.

"Whoa," Jack says, throwing his hands up. "Back up there, Toddy. You just say you're giving him _heroin?_ "

"Lydia said—"

"I'm gonna ban those words in this house, I swear to fucking Christ." He turns to Jesse again, exasperated rather than angry. In fact, it's the first time Jack's looked at him like an equal, and it's all to say, "Can you believe this?"

Jesse's too stunned to respond. It was hard enough to follow the conversation before. Now it's completely lost all sense to him.

"No more dope for you, buddy," Jack says, flicking a finger at Jesse's forehead. Right back to his usual level of condescension. "See, Toddy, it's keeping his brain all swelled. Now he needs salt."

Todd screws his face up, looking just as perplexed as Jesse. "Salt?"

"Simple, right?" Uncle Jack smirks, mighty pleased with himself for solving the mystery. "I'll call the vet, pick up a bag of saline."

Jesse and Todd exchange a glance. It doesn't sound like a real solution to either of them, but neither wants to question Jack's judgment.


	79. Day 79

"Bet you wish I'd hit you harder," Uncle Jack snickers as he switches out the old saline bag for a fresh one. 

Jesse watches him closely, not convinced that Jack won't poison the I.V. drip now that they're alone. Todd's busy cleaning up the lab—which is going to take hours, given the state they left it in when Jesse collapsed mid-cook. Jesse could be long dead before Todd returns, and Jack could convince him it was entirely natural, like his brain bled out at last.

Uncle Jack catches the way Jesse's looking at him and he laughs again. "Not on my watch," he says, as if reading Jesse's mind. "You're sticking around 'til Toddy gets sick of you _for good_. Which, from the looks of things, is gonna be a while, huh?"

"...So that's really just salt water?" Jesse sounds as skeptical as he looks.

"Lemme put it this way," Jack says as he sinks back into his chair. "If it wasn't, you'd be feeling it already."

"How d'you know all this stuff?"

"Man's gotta learn to fend for himself," replies Jack with a shrug. "One day—probably real soon, if Barack Hussein's got anything to say about it—this whole country's gonna go to shit. You sure as hell can't trust the government to take care of you, so you gotta prepare yourself.

"And I mean for _anything_." He gestures in the direction of the window. "You've seen enough of this place. The fence, the cameras, the guns… You don't think it's all for you, right? Nah. This place is a goddamn fortress. Time comes, I'm ready for war. And whatever comes after. So I guess you could say this is one of the safest places you could be."

Somehow, Jesse doubts that.

"So..." Jack slaps his knees, abruptly switching topics, "Heroin, huh."

An icy jolt runs down Jesse's spine and he says, much too fast, "It was her idea."

"Yeah, I know. Toddy don't lie to me." But Jack's eyes narrow and he stares Jesse down for a good long moment.

No matter how hard he tries, Jesse can't hold his gaze.

"You must suck at poker," Uncle Jack chuckles.

An instant later—without warning—he has Jesse pushed up against the wall with his forearm grinding into Jesse's throat, cutting off his air. "Don't think for one second I forgot what you are, you scum-sucking bottom-feeder. You start pushing on that boy, I will cut off every piece of you that you don't need for cooking. He's your master, not your mark."

"He never touched it!" Jesse chokes out, eyes watering.

"Damn straight he didn't," Jack says, jerking his arm back before he ends up putting Jesse into a coma. "Kid's too smart to be a junkie. More than I can say for somebody in this room."

Jesse doubles over, kowtowing and sputtering, "I'm sorry!"

The ready apology catches Jack by surprise. He wavers, considering Jesse's sincerity with a hard stare before he grants, smugly and with great satisfaction, "...That's a good boy."


	80. Day 80

It stays with him, his apology to Uncle Jack. He catches sight of himself in the bathroom mirror, ugly yellowing bruises on top of months-old scars, and all he can see written over his barely-recognizable face are a hundred reasons why he owes nothing to Jack, let alone an apology. He's disgusted with himself, giving in so easily to Jack's stupid bullying. He wasn't even in real danger. He knew Jack wouldn't hurt him unless he intended to finish the job.

And if that's where it was going, Jesse would have rather gone out without sounding like a little bitch.

"What's the matter?" Todd asks, stepping up behind him with the I.V. stand in tow. "You feeling sick?"

Kind of.

"I'm okay," Jesse replies quietly. A weight sits heavy in his stomach, but it isn't the food. There's something more wrong with him than brain bleeding or vitamin deficiencies or whatever. He can feel it. Pieces of him gone missing. And the worst thing is, he doesn't notice how bad it is until after those moments of panic seize him. His brain shuts down and he comes out the other side asking himself what the fuck went on exactly.

Who would've thought that fast-forwarding through the awful shit in life would be worse than just living through it?


	81. Day 81

"It's okay," Todd says as he leads Jesse down the hall. "The guys are in Vegas. Nobody's gonna bother you."

Even so, Jesse feels a visceral trepidation, wandering into this unknown part of the clubhouse. It's as if his body knows there are certain places he belongs and certain places he doesn't. Somehow, through the twisted machinations of fate and the universe, he's become somebody who isn't allowed somewhere as ordinary as a kitchen.

It isn't even a very nice kitchen. It's kind of small, and though the appliances have been upgraded with the help of Walt's $70 million, the linoleum and countertops and cupboards look like they were original to whenever Jack bought the place—and they've gotten busted up over years of neglect and getting slammed by the roughnecks that hang out here on the regular.

Todd pulls out a chair for him at the table and Jesse sits. To his amazement, Todd then lets go of the leash. Jesse follows it with wide eyes as it falls to the floor, untethered to anything.

"How's an egg and cheese sandwich sound?" Todd asks him.

Jesse looks up, still alarmed, and it takes him a few seconds to process the question and a few more to answer, "Sounds great."

Todd smiles and steps over to the refrigerator. While his back is turned, Jesse's gaze flits around the kitchen. Knives. Pans. Beer bottles. There's even a pistol resting on the breakfast bar across the room.

...This is a test.

Jesse puts his hands on the table, laid out flat with fingers splayed. He's not going to fall for it.

"Hey, we got orange juice," Todd says, still gathering items from the fridge.

"I'd love some," Jesse responds, measured and careful, "if that's okay."

Todd pours him a glass before turning his attention to the stove. Jesse watches him cook while sipping his juice, trying to figure out what comes next or if this is all there is.

Todd overcooks the eggs. The sandwich is dry when Jesse bites into it. Still, it's one of the best meals he's had in a long while. (At least it didn't come from a can.) As queasy as he feels thanks to sheer anxiety, he finishes the entire meal in less than two minutes.

Even after they're done eating, they sit at the kitchen table for a long time, talking about nothing in particular.


	82. Day 82

It happens again the next morning. Todd leads Jesse into the kitchen and leaves him untethered while making pancakes.

"You sure you don't need help?" Jesse asks, like he gives a shit.

"You're supposed to be relaxing," Todd answers with a smile, gently patting the top of Jesse's head before returning to his work.

Something really doesn't sit right about this, but Jesse doesn't question it. He rests his hands on the table again, picking at the skin around his fingernails, until the food is set before him and he can focus on eating instead of worrying.

About halfway through the meal, a door slams on the other side of the house and Jesse jumps, dropping his fork onto his plate. He turns a panicked look to Todd. "I thought nobody was here?"

"Oh, it's just Uncle Jack," Todd chuckles.

Before Jesse can get another word out, the man himself enters the kitchen. Jesse gapes at him, frozen with fear, but Jack surveys the scene like there's nothing out of the ordinary before directing a smile to Todd. "Pancakes, huh? Any leftovers?"

"Yeah," Todd answers, getting to his feet to prepare a plate for his uncle.

Jack sinks into the chair beside Jesse and gives him a jackal smile that's too unnerving to be friendly. Jesse stares back at him without moving a muscle, leaving his fork where it is.

"Not hungry?" Uncle Jack asks him. "Toddy worked hard on those, you know. Don't want 'em to get cold."

Jesse's fingers twitch uncertainly before moving to pick up the fork.

Jack nods in approval.

"Here you go, Uncle Jack," Todd says, returning to the table to put a plate down in front of him.

"Bless this food, Lord," Jack says with a nod towards the heavens. "And bless my nephew, the greatest cook this kitchen ever saw. Amen."

"Amen," Todd repeats, though he ducks his head sheepishly, embarrassed by the compliment.

Uncle Jack looks at Jesse again, expectant.

"...Amen," Jesse echoes, belated and bewildered.


	83. Day 83

After three days of regular meals at a regular table like a regular person, Jesse finds his health rapidly improving. Of course, there's more to it than that—the I.V. treatments probably saved him from a coma or worse—but the freedom of movement leaves his whole body feeling stronger. His muscles and joints lose most of their crippling stiffness. If it weren't for his enduring dizziness and the shackles around his ankles, he bets he could run as fast as he used to.

Todd still handles him as if he's made of glass, and Jesse is perfectly happy with that. If Todd's going to touch him at all, it's much better this way than it was not so long ago, when fists and blades were the norm.

When Uncle Jack doesn't join them for lunch (much to Jesse's relief), Todd sees the opportunity for rebellion. He turns to Jesse after cleaning up the dishes and asks with an overtone of conspiracy, "Hey, you wanna get some air?"

By habit, Jesse gives the room a quick scan, though of course any cameras or mics are out of sight. "Um…" He hesitates. "Is that okay?"

"Sure," Todd says. "Just stick with me."

As if Jesse has a choice in that.

Outside, it's a beautiful day. The air is warm enough to tell Jesse that summer's on the way but hasn't quite arrived yet. He tries not to think about that too much, how it was winter when he got here. Instead he takes a deep breath and focuses on enjoying this. These moments are rare and he knows it. He can never tell how long it'll be before he sees sunlight again, and he wants to savor it even if the brightness of it sparks an aching pain behind his eyes.

He's dragged out of the moment when Todd reaches for his hands, his whole body going rigid until he realizes that Todd's going for the cuffs around his wrists. Jesse doesn't say anything, only watching in confused silence while Todd unlocks them. He's even more amazed when Todd then bends down to remove the shackles from his ankles, as well.

"That's better, right?" Todd looks up at him with a smile, squinting against the glare of the sun.

It _should_ be better. Instead, Jesse's afraid. He looks at his bare wrists then back to Todd, questioning. Every instinct in his body is telling him this leads to something terrible, that he's far safer with the chains than without them.

"Thought you might wanna walk a little," Todd explains, seeing the look on Jesse's face. "Wouldn't want you to fall over."

It's never as simple as that, but Jesse nods. He takes a few steps forward and looks back to Todd for assurance. Todd hasn't moved to strike him. He hasn't moved at all. So far, so good. Jesse takes a few more steps, his gait wobbly both because he still can't quite see straight and because he's so used to being bound.

He arrives at the center of the stretch of dirt that serves as the clubhouse's driveway, stopping there to look around. He focuses on the direction opposite of the meth lab and his cage, to the part of the compound he only explored once, when he had his uncomfortable picnic lunch with Todd early on. Apart from the silo, a few small, scattered buildings lie that way, and the mountains rise up in the distance behind them. Jesse imagines taking off, running as fast as he can toward those mountains and not stopping until he's reached the peak. The view from there would be sweeping and wide and endless. This place wouldn't even register as a dot in his vision.

Jesse brings his palms to his eyes, rubbing tears away before they've fully formed. The pain in his head is getting worse. This is all probably a bit too much for him, being out here, though five minutes haven't even passed. He turns back to find Todd watching him and waiting patiently. Before he returns to his master's side, Jesse casts one final, longing look toward the mountains.


	84. Day 84

"Okay, now roll the batter around," Jesse says and mimes the motion.

Todd does it too fast, more of an impatient throttle. Some of it splashes off the side of the pan and onto the floor.

"No, no!" Jesse winces and reaches out to grab the thing, his hand over Todd's, correcting his movement. "Slower, see? You just kinda… roll it." For lack of a better explanation. He moves Todd's hand steadily until there's a good coat of batter over the pan's surface.

Todd glances at Jesse briefly before returning an intense stare of concentration to the crepe.

Jesse releases Todd's hand and directs him to the stove. "Don't put it back on the heat. Just let it sit on one of the cool things." Elements, he means. "Like about a minute."

Todd does as he's told, then looks back to Jesse for confirmation.

Jesse nods and brushes his palm across his forehead with a laugh. "I think half of it ended up on the floor."

"I'll eat this one," Todd offers. "We'll make the next one better."

"It's okay," Jesse says with a dismissive wave of his hand. He leans in to check on the state of the crepe, then tells Todd, "Now flip it over to cook the other side. —Not, like, actually flip it. With a spatula. Like a pancake, but more careful."

Todd picks up the spatula and nudges the crepe free from the pan's surface. It starts to pull apart, so Jesse reaches again to correct Todd's hand.

After the crepe's successfully turned over, Todd's eyes go once more to Jesse and his lips curl into a pleased smile. "You're in a good mood today," he notes.

Jesse's own smile fades the moment Todd says that. He ducks his head to hide his face and the nauseated horror that washes over it. When he looks up again, the smile's returned, falsified and wavering. "I really appreciate all the stuff you're doing for me," he recites.

Todd claps his hand on Jesse's shoulder and draws him in for a half-hug. "I want things to stay like this," he says.

"...Me too."

Jesse isn't sure if he means that or not.

He thinks he might.


	85. Day 85

Jesse stays in bed all morning, feigning sleep until it's nearly noon.

That's when Todd comes to check on him. "Hey, Jess?" Todd whispers as he nudges Jesse's arm.

Jesse opens his eyes. His back is turned to Todd, and he could probably go on pretending like he's still asleep, but he has a feeling that Todd doesn't intend to leave him alone any longer. Slowly and blearily, Jesse rolls onto his back to look up at him.

"Don't you want breakfast?"

Jesse gives a slight shake of his head. "Not feeling good."

"Should I get Uncle Jack?"

Jesse shakes his head again, firmly this time.

"What's the matter?" Todd asks.

"Just…" Even if he could find the words for it, he couldn't tell Todd the truth. "I'm tired is all."

He would have liked Todd to take the hint and leave him alone, but of course, Todd doesn't. Instead, he climbs up onto the bed, planting his hands on either side of Jesse's body so that he can lean over and look straight into Jesse's eyes. "Are you sad?" he asks.

Jesse recoils subtly, sinking as far into the mattress as he can, though he keeps his face controlled and calm. "I'm just tired," he insists.

"I'm trying here, Jess."

"I know. And I really appreciate—"

"I don't think you do," Todd interrupts, examining Jesse's face the same way he studies his notes in the lab.

"No, I mean it." Jesse's voice rises in pitch as he searches frantically for the right thing to say. "I—Seriously, it means a lot to me."

Todd doesn't seem convinced. His gaze leaves Jesse's face and travels down his body in a hungry way that Jesse recognizes intimately. It's the look that Todd gets when he's searching for a piece of Jesse's flesh to carve into.

"I'm just scared," Jesse spits out.

Todd looks him in the eye again, brows lifting. "Of what?"

"How I… How I feel." The way his voice is wavering, Jesse knows he sounds like he's lying. He tries to save it by going on, "It's just—I've been alone ever since I stopped working with Mr. White. I screwed it up so bad with him. And I don't wanna screw it up with you, too. I want you to be happy with me. And I feel bad 'cause I did wrong and now I'm so sick I can't even work for you. I don't want you to get tired of me like he did."

It sounds ridiculous the more Jesse goes on and he's sure he's only digging a deeper hole. But something about that registers with Todd, because understanding flickers in his eyes and gone is that look of sadistic calculation. "Aw, Jess," he murmurs, brushing his fingers through Jesse's hair. "I'm never gonna get tired of you."

"Promise?" The frightened tears in Jesse's eyes, at least, are genuine.

"The work's important, but it's not all about that," Todd says. "Just be good. That's all I need. I think that's all Mr. White needed, too. But you're learning now. Things don't have to be bad if you don't make them bad."

Jesse nods, biting his tongue.

Todd nods, too, and sits back so he straddles Jesse's hips while rummaging around in the pocket of his jeans. A moment later, he pulls out his switchblade and flips it open. Jesse jerks back at the sight of it but Todd lays his palm against Jesse's throat to hold him still. "Shh…" He drags Jesse's shirt up with the blade, looking for a clean stretch of skin amidst the gashes that mar his torso. "Don't move around so much. Wouldn't wanna hurt your head."


	86. Day 86

"Imbecile," Mr. White spits.

Jesse ignores him, tugging his shirt halfway up over his stomach and turning to look at the thing in the mirror: a jagged swastika about four inches tall, scrawled across his side in fresh and angry red.

Not one to be pushed aside, Mr. White keeps talking, "You know, you could at least have gone to breakfast. How hard is that, getting out of bed? Oh, _nevermind_. I forget you can't be bothered to put forth even a minimal amount of effort into your daily routine. Heaven forbid, Jesse Pinkman awake before two in the afternoon!"

"Shut up already," Jesse mumbles as he prepares a swab of alcohol. "I get it."

"I don't think you do," Mr. White retorts. "Of all the demands he could be making, this is the very least. For God's sake, Jesse. Think of all the horrific things you've done just to stay alive, and now you can't even fulfill the simplest task? Play house with him, you idiot. That's all he wants."

"I _know_ ," he hisses as he dabs the cuts with alcohol.

"Wonderful!" Mr. White laughs, tossing his hands into the air. "So you're just being willfully stupid."

"It was a _mistake_ ," Jesse snaps, finally looking up.

"It was self-pity," Mr. White corrects with a sneer. "Boo-hoo, poor little Jesse doesn't feel like eating pancakes to save his life. Oh, it's so terrible to be finally living in a house again, resting in bed and getting served warm meals."

"Maybe I'd rather die than take anything that psycho wants to give me."

"Oh, I hope that's true," Mr. White scoffs as he reaches down to take over for Jesse, cleaning the wound with a less forgiving touch. It stings like hell. "Honestly, I hope it is. Because you're well on your way to that end. Until your skill in the lab becomes relevant again—if it ever does—your survival depends purely on your entertainment value. How far do you think that'll take you, if you can't be bothered to engage in some harmless quality time with him?"

Jesse sets his jaw and looks away.

"Let me put it another way," Mr. White says, tossing aside the swab so that he can lay his hands on Jesse's shoulders. "If you die here just because you're too proud to do what's necessary, then everything that came before this will be meaningless. All of it. So if it's remotely true that you care about the people you've killed to survive up 'til now: man up, give these people what they want, and survive _this_."


	87. Day 87

Jesse helps Todd clear the table when dinner's done. It's not something he was ordered to do; in fact, Todd doesn't seem like he wholly approves of Jesse moving around so much, as he keeps casting concerned glances in Jesse's direction. "I just wanna help," Jesse tells him, unprompted.

Todd responds by reaching out to stroke Jesse's hair. "Don't push yourself."

Jesse summons a smile and goes back to stacking plates. He feels robotic today, drained of both the good and the bad. It's a strange feeling for him. He's so used to being overwhelmed by his emotions and now he's having trouble finding even one. The smile probably comes off as false as it is, but the effort satisfies Todd.

It would have been a good day to spend in the lab, doing nothing but weighing and measuring lifeless things. It's a bad day for pretending to love someone who tortures you.

They're both quieter than usual. Lost in thought. God only knows what it is that's going on in Todd's head. Nothing good, Jesse assumes. Todd will probably cut him again once they're back in the bedroom. Jesse can't figure out how to make that not happen. Walt would tell him to stop trying to get out of it and accept it for what it is. Jesse himself is wondering if that isn't the smartest thing to do. He's always fighting the inevitable. What's that ever gotten him?

Jesse turns around too fast and the room goes spinning. He pauses in his step and shuts his eyes until he regains his sense of balance.

He's about to move again when Jane leans in to whisper, "Play dead."

Jesse looks at her, then redirects his gaze to Todd. He's preoccupied at the sink, his back to Jesse. It'd be a perfect opening to kill him, if Jesse was stronger. But he isn't.

"Play dead," Jane repeats more urgently. "Trust me."

Why not?

Jesse lets the plates fall from his hands and they clank and shatter across the floor as his legs give out from under him. Todd whips around just in time to catch him before he collapses on top of the broken ceramic. He sounds frantic, calling Jesse's name over and over, gathering Jesse into his arms. Unresponsive, Jesse's head rolls back and his eyes slip closed.

Now there's an act he can pull off.


	88. Day 88

"I'm fine," Jesse insists, giving Todd a small smile. "Seriously. I'm all better today."

"Well, let's just be extra careful," Todd replies as he pats Jesse's hand.

"But I'm supposed to be the one helping _you_ out, not the other way around."

"There's gonna be plenty of time for that." Todd reaches over, fluffing Jesse's pillow a bit. "It's my fault for pushing you so much. Uncle Jack always says I have trouble with that. Paying attention to the signs. You're such a little guy. I gotta be more careful with you. You just take it easy, okay? Food'll be ready soon."

Todd starts to draw away from the bed, but Jesse reaches with his free hand to tug at his sleeve. When Todd turns back to him with questioning eyes, Jesse pleads, "Just stay, okay? I'm not hungry. I don't wanna be alone."

"It's just gonna be a couple minutes—"

"Please." He's getting the hang of this, using those bright blue eyes kind of like he used to use them on girls. "I want you here more than I want breakfast. I'm scared if I fall asleep again, I won't wake up."

"Aw, Jess…" Once more, Todd lays his hand over Jesse's, squeezing in reassurance. "I'll stay a little bit. But there's no way I'm letting you skip breakfast. I promised I'd make sure you got fed."

"Thank you," Jesse whispers. "Thank you. Thank you."


	89. Day 89

"Looking good, Sparky. Your ticker's doing alright." Uncle Jack releases Jesse's wrist and turns to check on the I.V. "Just get a dose of this in you, take down any swelling you still got going on."

"Then I can walk around again?"

"Well…" Jack glances from Jesse to Todd and back. "Seizures and fainting, that's pretty big stuff. You go wandering around, you gotta hold onto Toddy like your life depends on it. 'cause it does. All it takes is one more fall and you're dead."

Jesse nods in solemn understanding.

Jack looks at Todd again and jerks his head toward the doorway. "Talk to you for a second?"

"Sure, Uncle Jack."

The two disappear into the hallway, shutting the door behind them. They don't stay close enough for Jesse to discern their voices. Jesse turns his eyes toward the ceiling and swallows hard. He tries to keep his heart rate steady, to keep it from spiking. He isn't in as much danger as Jack thinks he is—not from the concussion, at least—but the headaches always get worse when he's frightened.

When Todd comes back into the room, he doesn't say a word. He immediately takes up his station back at Jesse's bedside, their fingers entwining. Jesse looks at him but Todd doesn't return his gaze, eyes focused on the window instead. His face is as impossible to read as it always is.


	90. Day 90

"Everybody's still in Vegas?" Jesse asks. Casually, like he's just trying to make conversation, when really he's trying to figure out the safety of his situation.

"For a little bit longer, yeah." Todd helps him down the step from the back door to the dusty yard and they walk arm-in-arm, Jesse without any chains at all.

"It's getting real nice out," Jesse notes, though he keeps his head bowed to avoid the sun's glare.

"You miss the fresh air?"

Jesse gives Todd a sidelong glance, lips quirked wryly. "You mean, do I miss the cage?"

Todd shrugs.

"Would _you_ miss it?"

"I always liked it down there," Todd replies nonchalantly.

Jesse pauses in his step and turns to face Todd more fully, examining his expression. Is that a joke?

Todd sees the look in his eyes and elaborates, "It was just somewhere to get away for a while. You know, where they wouldn't think to look for me. And it was always quiet and kind of… peaceful, I guess. Nobody yelling, or... —And if you put your ear to the wall, like right by the corner, you could hear the desert whispering. I liked that. Like it was reading me bedtime stories. And I was just… safe."

Jesse opens his mouth to ask, but he's not sure what the question is. He doesn't really want to know the details. What these people did to Todd. Whether it was worse than what Todd's done to him. Is there any use in comparing?

Todd smiles and looks at the ground, abashed. As if it's stupid to be talking about this. "I sound like a pussy," he says.

Jesse shakes his head, pushing past the dark implications. "I oughta thank you, I guess. For putting me in your favorite place." He lifts his head and gives Todd a weak smile. "But I still like your room more. Better mattress."

Todd laughs, surprised by that, and hugs Jesse around the shoulders.


	91. Day 91

There's a newspaper sitting on the table. Both Jesse and Todd pause to examine it, though Todd only looks briefly before leaving Jesse to begin preparing breakfast. As Jesse sinks into his chair, he draws the paper closer.

His mugshot is on the first page, along with a photo of Walter White. The headline reads: **NEW EVIDENCE EMERGES IN THE HUNT FOR METH KINGPINS**. Jesse tries to read further, but the small text goes out of focus and he can't seem to get his eyes to follow it.

He returns his attention to the photos, instead. They're old. The mugshot is from before he shaved his head, and he can't remember which arrest it was, but it was definitely years ago. Before he'd even hooked up with Mr. White. Walt's photo is slightly more recent, at least. After chemo, for sure.

Jesse's fingers trail across the images, black ink smudging his fingertips. He hadn't thought very much about this. The headlines. The photos. The stories everyone must be telling. This one's an Albuquerque paper, but how many others are there? How many states carried their story? How many countries? Do they call him Jesse Pinkman or Cap'n Cook? Did they make up a whole new street name for him? Where do they think he is now?

And where's Mr. White?

"Is he dead?" Jesse asks Todd.

Todd looks over his shoulder as he sets a pan onto the stove. "Who? Mr. White? Dunno. Nobody knows."

"What evidence are they talking about?"

Todd snickers and shakes his head. "Nothing. Just the meth. They think it's his. They're trying to trace it."

"But it's ours." Jesse looks at Walt's picture, his lip curling. "That's right, bitch. It's ours."

"I've got a bunch of those," Todd says as he scrapes scrambled egg across the pan's surface. "I try to find all of 'em. Uncle Jack picks 'em up for me, too. And there's tapes. From the TV news. It's neat, like we're famous."

"Can I see 'em?" Jesse asks, still focused on the photo of Walt. "Please?"

"Sure. I'll get 'em outta the vault later." Todd looks over to Jesse again, but Jesse remains transfixed on the newspaper, and Todd leaves him to wonder at it in peace.


	92. Day 92

Reviewing news about the Heisenberg case has very quickly become their new hobby. For a while, Todd read articles to Jesse out loud, since Jesse couldn't read them for himself. Once Todd's voice started going hoarse, he began pulling out recordings and they embarked on a marathon viewing, complete with popcorn. Todd, it seems, has been dying to share all of this with someone. The gang must have grown tired of it once they had their hands on the money.

"Oh, this is a good one," Todd says, picking one of the tapes from the box.

"You remember it just from reading the date and channel?" Jesse sounds incredulous. "How many times did you watch all this?"

Todd laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "A lot."

"So what's on that one?" Thus far, the content itself hasn't been that compelling. Most of the interviews have been focused on cops or people who didn't know him or Mr. White very well, hangers-on looking to grab the spotlight. Some of Jesse's old high school friends had given interviews, people he hadn't talked to in years, and they had nothing nice _or_ interesting to say. The really fascinating part had simply been the surreality of watching how the world went on outside while Jesse was trapped in here. Everyone out there knew his name and his face, and here he was, hidden right under their noses not twenty miles from the center of their manhunt.

Instead of answering, Todd pops the tape into the VCR and settles onto the couch next to Jesse. He swipes the popcorn bowl from Jesse's hands just as the _20/20_ logo pops onto the screen.

When his mother's face appears, Jesse sits forward, his mouth dropping open. She looks worn out, greyer. Much older than the last time he laid eyes on her. He's so fixated that he doesn't even hear the introduction monologue. Flashes of his childhood blink by in rapid succession: school photos, home videos, crayon drawings. These give way to footage of meth labs and corpse-littered crackhouses—misleading pictures, none of them places he's ever actually been to, and certainly not the pristine labs he and Mr. White kept up. But they're all telling a specific narrative. His mother's story. About him.

Todd turns to him with a grin. "You were a cute kid."

Jesse nods absently, trying to follow the interview. "He was always very difficult," his mother's saying—words Jesse could swear he's heard Todd repeat. "Adam and I never quite knew what to do with him. We tried everything. Tutors, counselors, church… One moment he would be bright and sweet and attentive, and the next—it was like a lightswitch. He had a devil in him. If something didn't go his way, he'd raise hell."

The interviewer nods sympathetically at her words. "So, in a sense, did you see this coming?"

"No," Mrs. Pinkman answers without hesitation. "When it came to the drugs, our greatest fear was that we'd lose our son. That he would ruin his life and end up dead in a gutter somewhere. We never imagined… We never imagined he'd be the one doing that to other people, creating this poison that destroys millions of lives."

Jesse presses his hands to his face, dragging them down. He feels a headache coming on. The voices become muffled and fade out. He isn't sure how much of the interview he misses before Todd reaches out to shake his shoulder. "You gotta see this part," he tells Jesse.

"If you could see your son right now, what would you say to him?" the interviewer asks.

Mrs. Pinkman looks at the camera and Jesse feels the weight of her gaze as much as he ever did, if not worse. There used to be a sadness behind her disappointment, and that used to be the worst part, that he couldn't be who she desperately wanted him to be. Now… Now she looks repulsed. As if she's shed whatever responsibility she felt for his situation and shifted the blame to Jesse entirely.

"I pray to God you're still alive," she tells Jesse in a clipped and icy tone, "so that you can truly answer for your evil deeds."

"Man, she's really something," Todd chuckles as the closing music sounds over the credits.

Jesse's gaze moves from the screen to his hands as he sinks back, his expression empty. He wonders if any of that was even real. Then again, why wouldn't it be real? When he asks himself honestly, can he imagine his mother feeling any other way?


	93. Day 93

Together, Jesse and Todd work their way through more of the articles and tapes. Now that they've started, Jesse can't bring himself to stop. He has to see everything, hear everything, to piece together the person he once was—because he feels like he's been someone else all this time. Jesse Pinkman has become an idea, not a human being. And Jesse Pinkman is something Jesse himself isn't sure he understands.

Todd is all too happy to help him through this journey. Whenever Jesse points to something and asks to see it, Todd immediately indulges him.

Jesse Pinkman is only a sidekick in most of these stories—Walter White is, of course, the great villain and center of attention—but there comes the occasional story that focuses on Jesse entirely. The question of him. Some stories posit that it was Jesse the hooligan who corrupted Walter White the poor cancer-ridden family man. Others theorize that Mr. White had been grooming his student for the business since they first came into contact in chemistry class. Some even wonder if sexual abuse was involved. The media is hungry to lump every vice into their partnership, to create a story as sinister and depraved as possible.

Jesse stops now and then to laugh and look around him. Those people don't know the half of it.


	94. Day 94

"Movie night again?" Uncle Jack remarks as he walks through the darkened living room on the way to the kitchen.

On the screen, a tearful Marie Schrader recounts her final conversation with her husband. Jesse watches, enraptured. He remembers the moment she's describing, remembers watching Hank Schrader dial the phone. And he's sure he had been thinking to himself that it was stupid, that it was exactly the kind of unnecessary delay that gets heroes killed in movies. But then again, he might have only thought that afterwards, when he watched from his hiding place under Walt's Chrysler as Hank Schrader's brains spilled out onto the desert sand.

"We've almost gotten through all of them," Todd tells his uncle, beaming.

Uncle Jack glances at Jesse, eyebrows raised in surprise. "He didn't pussy out, huh? Thought for sure I'd see some waterworks when I came in here."

Jesse looks away from the screen finally, meeting Jack's eyes. "It's just old news," he says, stone-faced.

Uncle Jack smirks at him, then addresses Todd, "Don't lose track of time. Tuesday."

"Thanks, Uncle Jack," Todd answers. "I won't forget."

Jack nods and continues on his way, leaving the boys to it.

Once he's gone, Jesse asks Todd, "What's Tuesday?"

"Got a meeting in town," Todd answers vaguely, then points to the screen. "Hey, watch this. She's about to talk about that time we went to her house. Remember that?"

Jesse remembers. He'd begged Todd not to kill her. And Todd kept his promise.


	95. Day 95

When they've finished with the very last recording, Todd goes about carefully replacing everything in its box while Jesse lays back on the couch to soak it all in. He drapes his arm across his face, shutting his eyes, and listens to the echoes of newscasters in his head. Every single one of them tells a different version of the truth. Jesse feels like even he's not sure what happened anymore.

Once Todd's done cleaning up, he settles back onto the couch next to Jesse. "Does your head hurt?" he asks softly.

"Yeah," Jesse answers. He rolls onto his side and squirms closer until his cheek is resting on Todd's lap. A few minutes pass in silence while Todd strokes Jesse's hair with a slow, soothing touch. Then Jesse speaks again, "Everybody out there thinks I'm evil."

"Yeah," Todd confirms, though there isn't any judgment in his tone.

"I guess that's what you think, too."

Todd shrugs. "Uncle Jack says the whole world's evil. It's just some people are honest about it and some ain't. He says it's better you own up to it like a man. So I guess… it's good you're figuring it out. Everything's better once you know who you're supposed to be."

"You never had a problem with any of it," Jesse says, turning his head to look up at Todd. "You never think twice about it."

"Uncle Jack raised me right." Todd glances at the darkened television screen. "From the way your mom talks and all, I can see how it is you turned out a rat. She shoulda had your back when they were asking her all those questions. You're family. But she rolled on you. That's the most awful thing a mom could do."

"She never cared about me," Jesse murmurs. "Nobody ever really does. All those people… Even the ones who used to be my friends wanna see me fry."

"I guess they weren't really your friends." Todd looks at Jesse again with a small smile. "But I am. And I'll keep you safe, Jess. Those people out there are never gonna get their hands on you. We're your new family and we take care of our own."

"Mm." Jesse shuts his eyes again. "Yeah. Family..."


	96. Day 96

It must be Tuesday, because it's Uncle Jack who wakes him, not Todd. Jesse's disoriented at first, the hand at his shoulder shaking him more roughly than he's been handled in a while. He turns to blink blearily at Jack, who's already taking the cuff off the bedpost.

Off the bedpost, and not off his wrist, like Todd does.

"Up," Jack orders shortly, and Jesse complies as quickly as he can, though he doesn't understand what the hurry is. The mornings have gone slow since his concussion.

"Something going on?"

"You could say that." Jack snaps the cuff around Jesse's other wrist, binding his hands behind his back.

For all his confusion, Jesse is beginning to understand that this is very wrong. He swallows, his throat going dry. "Is Todd okay?"

Uncle Jack rolls his eyes at the question, unimpressed by Jesse's concern. "Don't you worry about him. Come on, up."

When Jesse's too sluggish to react, Jack drags him up off the bed and ushers him out into the hall, keeping a firm grip on him all the while. Jesse stumbles the whole way, piecing things together with every step he takes toward the back door. Once they're out in the glaring sunlight, Jack pushes Jesse to his knees.

He doesn't have to turn his head. Jack's shadow spills across the sand in front of him, and he watches as it draws a gun. A moment later, Jesse feels the barrel brushing against the back of his skull. "Why?" he asks, his voice small. 

"Orders come down," Jack answers with a shrug. "The kid'll understand once she explains it to him. You being outta work like this ain't doing us any good. And I think it's about time for Toddy to move on with his life, don't you?"

"He's lonely," Jesse says, staring intently at Jack's shadow. "He was alone before I got here and he's gonna be alone again. I do more for him than just cook meth. You know that."

"Spare me the faggy shit," Jack sighs, punctuating with a spit into the dirt.

"I can do more for you, too."

Jack groans. "What'd I just fuckin' say?"

"Not _that_ ," Jesse hisses. He turns finally to look up at Uncle Jack. "I get it. Why you left that paper on the table. Why he had me watch all that news shit. I get that there's nothing out there for me. Nowhere to go. I'm a rat to you, but I'm a monster to them. I'm in here for the rest of my life, and whether that means one more minute or ten more years, I get that it's up to you."

Jack runs his tongue over his teeth and cocks his head in acknowledgment. "Okay, but you're still a worthless retard who ain't worth the cost of all that pancake mix you been eating."

"I'm worth every cent," Jesse replies coolly, though his teeth are chattering with fear. "You'll figure it out when Todd gets back, if you blow my brains out right here. You'll see exactly how much I was worth."

Uncle Jack rolls his head from side to side, considering Jesse's words. Then he tosses away the gun and seizes Jesse by the throat, forcing him to the ground. "You just negotiated your way outta making this clean and easy," he sneers as Jesse gasps for air. "My nephew don't need anybody but me. 'specially not a wiseass little rat like—"

"Uncle Jack?"

The back door opens and Jack immediately releases Jesse, climbing to his feet. As he steps to the side, Jesse gets a clear view of Todd, who's standing just a few feet away and looking bewildered at the scene before him.

Jack brushes himself off, playing it casual. "Don't you have a meeting you're supposed to be at?"

"Her flight got delayed, so…" Todd looks between his uncle and Jesse, grimacing uncomfortably. "Did Jesse do something bad?"

"Shit," Jack mutters, scrubbing his hand across his forehead. "Oh boy, where do I start."

"Maybe Todd should do it," Jesse suggests with a cough, his cheek still pressed into the dirt. "If he doesn't need me anymore. It's his choice, right?"

Jack wheels around to glare at Jesse. "Did anybody ask your fuckin' opinion?"

"What's he talking about, Uncle Jack?"

"Nothing." Jack picks up his gun and waves it dismissively in Jesse's direction. "Get him cleaned up and put some food in him. He's been whining my ear off." He stalks off around the side of the clubhouse before Todd can get another question out.

Todd approaches Jesse with reluctance and kneels down to help him up. "What was that about?" he asks in a whisper as he wipes the sand from Jesse's cheek.

"Same as always," Jesse answers, giving Todd a rueful smile. "He cares about you a lot. That's all."


	97. Day 97

Jesse can hear them arguing in the hall. They don't argue like normal families argue. There's no screaming, no slamming doors or swearing back-and-forth. In fact, as far as he can tell, Todd isn't saying much at all. In his mind's eye, Jesse pictures Todd staring at the floor in silence while Uncle Jack presents his argument in a very reasonable tone, as if it would be downright stupid to question his logic. And when he pauses for breath, that's when Todd speaks up to protest, though ever-deferential. A quiet plea. Jesse can't hear the words, only the sound. A pathetic, childish sound.

When they're finished, Todd comes into the room and climbs into bed with Jesse. He curls around Jesse like a boy with a stuffed animal, arms hooked around Jesse's waist, clinging to him in the dark.

With his free hand, Jesse runs his fingers through Todd's hair, the way Todd's so often done with him.

"He doesn't want you here when everybody gets back tomorrow," Todd murmurs.

"Do what you gotta do," Jesse replies softly.


	98. Day 98

The cuff clicks shut around Todd's right wrist, binding him to Jesse's left. Jesse watches him do it, then raises his arm experimentally, shaking his head as Todd's arm rises along with it. "This is bad," Jesse murmurs. "It's just gonna piss him off."

"He's gotta understand," Todd replies, grasping Jesse's hand.

"But he's right. I ain't worth the food you're feeding me. All he's gonna do is tell you to put me back in the hole or else shoot me." At that, Jesse's eyes widen. "And I want you to shoot me if that happens, okay, Todd?"

"I'm not gonna shoot you, Jess."

"No, please…" Jesse's fingers squeeze Todd's. "I'll die slow down there. Shoot me first. Promise you will."

"You're staying with me and you're gonna work again," Todd answers with an unnatural level of calm for someone looking to stand up to an Aryan gang leader, uncle or no. "You ready to walk?"

"Come on…" Jesse protests weakly, but Todd drags him off the bed regardless and holds on until he's steady on his feet. Then they walk side-by-side through the clubhouse and into the living room, where Uncle Jack is relaxing in a recliner with a glass of whiskey. The others must not have arrived yet. That's better, at least. Jesse can only imagine Jack would have to put up a greater show of authority if all their eyes were on him.

"The hell is this?" Jack grumbles at the sight of the handcuffs. "You two getting married now?"

"Uncle Jack," Todd begins, and Jesse feels a tremble down Todd's arm that might—for once—signal fear. "I think… I think Jesse has to stay with me."

Jack sucks at his teeth. To Jesse's surprise, he doesn't interrupt his nephew's difficult speech.

Todd goes on, "I know Lydia's angry with me 'cause she's losing a lotta money. And I know she's been talking to you about finding somebody else. And—I told her, too—I'm really, really sorry about that. But Jesse's a chemistry genius, and I know he's not much while he's still sick, but it's gonna take a lot longer to find anybody like him than it'll take just to wait for him to get better. Mr. White once told me there were cartels down in Mexico killing each other trying to get their hands on Jesse. That's how good he is. And we've got him all to ourselves, right here."

Uncle Jack's eyes slide to Jesse and narrow. Jesse can't tell if he's irate or simply considering Todd's words.

"I know you don't know what to tell the guys about him being here with us," Todd continues, putting their handcuffed wrists forward. "So if you say he's gotta go back in that hole, then I'm going down there with him."

Both Jesse and Jack look sharply to Todd at that suggestion.

"—But," Todd adds quickly, "if you ask me, I don't think they got a right to question it if you say this is how it's gonna be. It's your house and your operation."

"It's _your_ operation," Jack corrects him, finally speaking up. "I promised you that when you started this thing." And with that, he heaves a sigh of acquiescence. "Which… means that if you think this is the way to go, this is the way to go."

A smile lights up Todd's face. Jesse's astounded by how real it looks.

Uncle Jack holds up his hand. "Don't celebrate yet." He turns to Jesse once more. "You little smartass. You been too comfortable under my roof. And I let it happen 'cause, yeah, I got a soft spot for my nephew here. But that ends today. If you're gonna be our house nigger, you're gonna start acting like it. I don't care how sick you are. One of my boys gives you an order, you jump. And if I hear you run your mouth like you did the other day, I'm sawing your jaw off."

"Yes, sir," Jesse answers.

Jack's stare lingers on Jesse another moment or two, like he's trying to figure out if that's a cheeky response or not. "If I were you," he advises, "I'd get back in the lab right quick, even if all you're doing's scrubbing the floors. I don't reckon you'll like what the boys got in store for you."

"We'll get to work right now," Todd promises.

Uncle Jack nods in approval. "And take those off, for Christ's sake," he says, gesturing to the handcuffs. "When'd you get to be such a drama queen?"

Todd laughs and tugs Jesse by the wrist, pulling him back in the direction of their room.


	99. Day 99

"How'd they take it?" Jesse asks when Todd re-enters the bedroom with a tray full of breakfast.

Todd shrugs and sets the food down in front of Jesse: bacon and eggs. "Aw, you know. They cracked some jokes, asked why I wasn't making any for them, too. Uncle Jack told 'em I could cook for them if they wanted to take a crowbar to the face first, like you did. That shut 'em up."

"I'm sorry I'm so much trouble," Jesse mumbles, picking at his food.

"No, you're doing good," Todd replies with a shake of his head as he takes a seat next to Jesse. "Those guys just like to mess around. Just follow orders, like Uncle Jack said. You'll grow on 'em, too."

"I'm always gonna be a rat. Me following orders isn't gonna change that."

"They know you gotta stay in working condition," Todd assures him. "Anybody touches you, they're gonna have to answer to Uncle Jack."

Jesse nods uncertainly. After a moment, he puts down his half-eaten bacon and pushes the tray away. "Oughta get back to the lab and finish setting up."

Todd nudges the tray back towards him. "Finish eating first. It's the rules."

Without argument, Jesse picks up the bacon and takes another bite. It's too dry in his mouth. He hopes he doesn't throw up. After he swallows, he asks, "Did you, um… Did you ever talk to Lydia?"

"A little," Todd answers, grimacing in a way that tells Jesse it didn't go so well.

"It's okay if she wants you to kill me," Jesse says, looking Todd in the eye. "You're good enough, you know. You could do it without me now. Your uncle thinks so, too."

Todd shakes his head. "It's been so long, I forgot everything. Anyway, Mr. White always said it was a two-man job. And it's like I told Uncle Jack, you're the best there is now that Mr. White's gone. I want her to have the best. I told her that."

"What'd she say?"

Todd reaches out to squeeze his arm. "Don't worry about it, okay, Jess? Once we get this next batch to her, she'll be happy again."


	100. Day 100

Moving around the lab without anything restraining him, Jesse almost feels as if he's returned to the superlab underneath the laundromat. He's still trapped, but just like it was back then, he can almost pretend he's _not_ trapped. That he's here by choice, working side-by-side with an equal partner. The doors are wide open to let in a breeze and Todd lets him step outside as often as he needs to, for a break and fresh air and sunlight. There's no chain that stops him with a harsh jolt at the end of the dog run. If Jesse forgets about the bullet that Jack is so eager to send through his skull, then he can believe he's here as a prized chemist and not as a slave.

Jesse finds that he can read again, even the small numbers on the gauges, but he still confirms every setting with Todd to ensure there aren't any mistakes. It's like back in Mexico; he knows he'll die if he doesn't get this cook perfect. Todd's a psychopath. His affection isn't good for much. He might protest Lydia's orders weakly one or two times, but she and Jack both are at the end of their patience, and their pressure is enough to push back against Todd's weird obsession. Jesse's absolutely sure that both of them are already working on delivering a new toy to him.

And God help that poor bastard. Jesse's going to do what he can, not just to stay alive but to make sure no one else ends up here. He remember the blood on the floor of the tool shed when he first arrived. He wasn't the first person tortured here. He probably wasn't the first to live down in that cage, either. But he's going to be the last. That's a promise to himself that keeps him going through every scene of this little play he's acting out with Todd.

Once the product's cooling and Jesse's peeled off his ventilator and Tyvek, he and Todd sit outside and share a cigarette. The sun's setting over the distant mountains, the early summer heat relenting as day becomes evening.

"You did good today, Jess," Todd tells him.

"Thanks," Jesse answers with a smile. "So did you."


	101. Day 101

The fresh batch has attracted a crowd. It could be that they've all gathered around on their own, but Jesse has a feeling Jack called at least a few of them here on purpose. Probably to haul him away if the numbers dip below seventy percent. They're eyeing him with equal parts hunger and contempt, looking him up and down, noting the lack of chains. It's not that they're worried he'll do something. It's just an insult to them. They want to put the rat back in his place as much as Jack does.

But Jesse's at Todd's side, waiting patiently while the gas chromatograph makes its calculations. Jesse isn't allowed to touch it and he doesn't even try. They're stupid enough to think he could somehow rig the thing, but he can't. Not any more than he could the last time he was standing in a room full of guns itching to put a hole in him if the numbers didn't impress. It's up to the chemistry to save him.

After what feels like ages, the GC machine beeps. Todd looks as nervous as Jesse does when he leans over to read the output. When he finds the number, his face lights up in surprise. "Ninety-eight," Todd says, whirling around to grab Jesse by the arm. "Ninety-eight, Jess!"

Jesse shakes his head in disbelief, sure that he's mishearing. Eighty-eight, more like. There's no way. Eighty-eight would be nothing to sneeze at, but he can't break ninety when it's been this long, when he's been this messed-up. He steps closer to read the screen, catching only a glimpse of the number before Uncle Jack shoves him aside to get a look for himself.

"You gotta be kidding me," Jack mutters. "Ninety-eight. That little fucker."

Jesse's still too stunned to say anything, though Todd's shaking him by the shoulders and grinning. "We're back in business, Jess!"

The others look about as pleased as Uncle Jack. Jesse turns his head to meet Jack's eyes, careful to keep a smile off his face so he doesn't look too smug. There's a question in his features, instead. Where does this leave him? Is he really safe now?

"What're you waiting for? Go on and call the Quayle woman, Toddy," Jack says, though he doesn't take his eyes off Jesse. Todd obeys him without a moment's hesitation, cell phone already in hand as he walks out of the lab, leaving Jesse alone with the gang.

Jesse surveys them briefly before dropping his gaze to the floor. This is it.

"Good crank's good crank," Kenny speaks up, voicing the thoughts of the many. "But are we seriously supposed to call this little rat a brother now?"

"Hell no, he ain't a brother," Jack says, seizing Jesse by the scruff of his neck to push him forward a little. It's a touch all at once mock-affectionate and dominant. "He's just a punk. But you see what I'm talking about? He works better like this. Better work means more cash for us."

"I don't like it, boss," says the sleepy-looking one, Frankie. "There's fire in his eyes. He's thinking he's better than us."

"Oughta at least put him him back in ankle irons," the one named Matt adds. "You know he'll be gunning for us first chance he gets."

Jack forcibly turns Jesse's head so that Jesse's looking at him again. They stare at each other in silence, Jesse with a tensed jaw and pleading eyes, Jack with mild amusement covering his extreme displeasure at being in this situation. "He ain't gonna do shit," Jack concludes finally. "This pussy gets off on being Toddy's bitch. Ain't that right, rat?"

"Yes, sir," Jesse responds through gritted teeth. "I love being his bitch."

Jack nods, directing the next words to the group with an authority that leaves no room for further questioning: "And I say—hell, if it makes us money, where's the problem with that? Waste not, want not."


	102. Day 102

"So how come that retard gets a bitch and none of us gets a turn at him?" Jesse hears one of them say as he walks into the kitchen.

"I think you answered your own question there," says another. "'cause you ain't a desperate fucking retard who wouldn't know what to do with pussy if it was staring him in the face."

"Both of you shut the fuck up," Kenny snaps, though he does it halfheartedly, like he's only defending Todd out of obligation.

Jesse ignores all of them, opening the fridge. He'd hoped to find what he's looking for right in the front, but the thing's a mess. He has to dig for it, pushing boxes of leftovers aside. It should be nothing. A quick kitchen run. Todd certainly didn't think it was a big deal. But he's breaking out in a cold sweat, his hands shaking. He doesn't want to be in this room alone. With them. Just two bottles. Where the hell—

He almost doesn't get his arm out in time before the refrigerator door is slammed shut. He looks up to find Lester looming there, moustache twitching as he smirks down at Jesse. "Rat's stealing our food, too," he mutters.

"Beer," Jesse corrects him, his throat so dry that it comes out a whisper. "Todd wants beer."

"Todd wants beer," Lester repeats for the sake of the other guys, who're all gathering in the kitchen along with him to form a half-circle around Jesse, cornering him there against the cabinets.

"Anybody leaves a mark on him's gonna be in deep shit," Kenny calls from the living room. He hasn't bothered to follow them.

Everyone laughs. Jesse isn't sure what's supposed to be so damn funny about that. He sinks back, steadying himself with his hands on the countertop because he feels like his knees are going to give out. Jack's orders don't seem to mean much right now, when the man himself isn't around. Words don't put a wall between Jesse and these animals who, not three months ago, tortured and mutilated him so badly that he hardly recognizes his face when he looks in the mirror.

"I think there's a price for getting beer outta the fridge," Frankie says, stepping closer.

"Rat tax," Matt adds.

"Rat tax," Lester confirms with a chuckle.

"What can I—" Jesse clears his throat and starts again, because his first attempt was nearly inaudible. "What can I do for you?"

Lester slides his right foot forward. "My boot's dirty," he says. And it is. Filthy, in fact. Not just with desert dust and mud, but Jesse can see dried blood smeared across the steel toe, and God knows how much shit and piss caked in the tread from months or years of stomping around dive bar bathrooms. "Let's see that tongue of yours Todd likes so much. Get to work."

Jesse looks around at the others. If it were anyone else, anywhere else, he'd assume this was a joke. This is stupid frat boy shit. Movie shit. No one actually does this in real life. Except, of course, that he knows _they_ do. These people have done a thousand times worse to him, so why not humiliate him in the dumbest way possible for no reason at all? Of course they would do this.

"You deaf, faggot?" Matt sneers. "Clean ol' Lester's boot. We wanna see it shine."

Frankie starts to reach out for his shoulder so Jesse kneels before he's shoved down. It takes everything not to look at them. He wants them to see the defiance in his eyes. He wants them to know they're not breaking him, and that he's stronger than all of them because he never had to pull shit like this to feel like a king, and he thinks they're all pathetic for it. But all they'd see is a challenge, and Jesse wants this over as soon as possible. He doesn't want this to turn into a competition for them. They'll get bored of him if he just keeps his head down and does it.

So he bows down and smears his tongue across the toe of Lester's boot.


	103. Day 103

His mouth still tastes like vomit and hydrogen peroxide. He finds himself longing to be in the lab, but they haven't even delivered the latest batch and it's too soon for him to get back to work. Instead, he remains in bed for as long as possible. They won't come into Todd's room uninvited, but once he steps foot out the door, anything's fair game.

He hasn't said a word to Todd about what happened. He's already a rat. He doesn't want to invite further punishment, snitching for something petty like minor bullying. It could've been worse. He should be grateful it wasn't.

Todd, still elated from the success of their cook, hasn't noticed anything wrong. That's probably for the best. "You like Duran Duran?" he asks, scrolling through his iPod for something to listen to.

"Sure," Jesse answers, staring at the ceiling. He doesn't care about Duran Duran one way or the other. Anything to drown out the voices coming from the living room, really.

Once _The Wedding Album_ starts chiming from the speakers, Todd settles in next to Jesse. "Listen, I gotta go to Houston for a while. Lydia can't make it out and she wants it faster than any of our mules can get it to her, so I gotta run it myself."

Jesse swallows. "How long?"

Todd shrugs. "Few days. Not more than a week." When Jesse looks at him, the worry is plain on his face, and even Todd understands, resting his hand on Jesse's arm. "Nobody's gonna hurt you. You did it, Jess. Uncle Jack knows what you're worth now."

They'll torment him in any way they can, in any way that doesn't cripple him. Jesse has no doubts about it. Without Todd around, he won't even be safe in this room. But what can he say? It isn't as if he can go to Houston with Todd. And Todd won't give up an opportunity to see Lydia, especially when he's delivering over ten pounds of beautiful, fresh crystal. That's the one thing that can put a smile on her dour face. That's what Todd lives for.

"Drive safe," Jesse murmurs, patting Todd's hand. "Tell Lydia I said hi."


	104. Day 104

The gates have hardly shut behind Todd's departing car before the whole group of them come stomping into the bedroom to haul Jesse away. He's so light that it only takes one of them to carry him outside, the others circling around whooping and hollering. Jesse doesn't fight it, conserving his energy in case he needs to run for his life. Where? He wouldn't even know. But if he makes a scene before they've even started, it's going to be that much worse for him.

They set him down in the same spot out back where Jack had nearly shot him. This must be where they regularly gather for sport like that. He guesses he should be grateful they didn't throw him down and hit his head again.

"Hey, rat," Frankie says. "Take your clothes off."

Jesse stares pointedly at the ground as he peels his shirt off and tosses it aside. If he refuses, they'll do it for him, and it'll hurt. He drops his pants, too, enduring a round of jeers about his anatomy before the gang settles down again. He's grinding his teeth all the while, focused on the sand beneath his bare feet and the warmth of the sun on his shoulders. He can pretend they aren't here as long as they're not touching him. He can pretend there's nothing here but him and the sun and the desert.

Someone pushes him to his knees. Jesse doesn't look up to see who it is or what they're doing. The circle closes in around him, blocking the light, and it's only when someone stubs out their cigarette between his shoulder blades that he finally jerks his head up. Anticipating a fight, they grab him by the arms and bend him over.

Kenny crouches down in front of him, making sure to catch his eyes. "Since you're getting promoted and all, the boys thought you could use a little ink." He taps the SS tattoo on his neck, grinning widely. "Whatcha think about that?"

_It could be worse_ , is what Jesse thinks about that. He tries to steady the pained waver in his voice when he replies, "Sounds great. Thanks, guys."

"First we gotta clear up this ugly-ass Spic skull you got going on back here," Matt says over Jesse's shoulder, and a second later, Jesse feels a wider scalding against his back. A knife. Someone's heated their knife and pressed the blade to his skin. Jesse convulses against the arms that hold him, his screams echoing through the compound.

At least he hardly feels it when they finally get to work with the tattoo needle.


	105. Day 105

He wishes it was ice water pouring from the showerhead, anything to numb the burning of his skin. Nothing seems to be cold enough, even with his teeth chattering and shivers running through his body. He kneels in the tub with his forehead pressed to the bath tile for almost a half hour before someone pounds on the door and tells him to get the fuck out.

Jesse has never been more grateful for a lock on a bathroom door.

He tugs his jeans on without bothering to dry off and skitters out into the hallway with his head ducked, nearly colliding with Uncle Jack. "Whoa there," Jack says, swerving out of his way. "Crack your skull open like that."

"Sorry, sir," Jesse mumbles, though he doesn't slow his pace until he's safely in Todd's room. Once inside, he curls up on the bed with his face buried in his pillow, hugging himself with his bare back to the ceiling so nothing touches his raw skin.

About five minutes later, the bedroom door opens and Uncle Jack walks in with a roll of bandages and some kind of gel in a bottle. Jesse looks at him but doesn't move otherwise. "Water ain't enough," Jack says, surveying Jesse's back. His lips quirk in amusement at something. Probably one of the slurs they've tattooed there. "You taken a look at any of this? It's good stuff."

Jesse turns his face back into the pillow. No, he hasn't seen it. He doesn't care to look, either.

"They're having fun," Jack says as he smears some of the gel across Jesse's back. It stings for a moment before settling into cool relief. "Won't be like this forever."

"What's it gonna be like?" Jesse asks, his voice muffled.

"It's gonna be what you make it." Jack lays a bandage over one patch of skin before moving on to another. "You want my advice? Look, you figured out how to make Todd happy. You figured out how to make _me_ happy. Why don't you figure out how to do the same thing with them?"

"I'm running outta body parts."

Uncle Jack tosses his head back with a laugh. "See, now that's funny. Do more shit like that. Stop being a stuck-up little bitch. They smell it on you, you thinking you're so damn great, hiding out in here like you're too good to be around 'em."

"But you told me—"

"To be in the lab, yeah. When there's something to work on. Idle hands, son. You got nothing else to do, you oughta be serving 'em. Ingratiate yourself, you understand?"

Jesse lifts his head finally and turns to look at Uncle Jack, suspicious of the sincerity in his tone. Does Jack honestly want him to be one of them now? Is that where this is going?

Jack smirks like he's reading Jesse's mind as he applies another bandage. "Nobody breaks the arm that's jerking 'em off."


	106. Day 106

Jesse's pouring whiskey into one of the glasses on the table when fingers close around his wrist. His wide eyes raise to meet Lester's and he nearly spills onto the table before correcting his hold on the bottle.

"Throw some ice in that," Lester tells him. "Hot as hell in here."

"Yes, sir." Jesse turns to the freezer as soon as Lester releases him, but he keeps the man in his peripheral. There's no forgetting their last encounter in the kitchen. He can't help but feel like this is another trap.

If it is, Matt interrupts it. He leans over the breakfast bar while Jesse's still scooping ice into Lester's glass. "We're playing darts. Come on." Lester grabs his glass and Jesse moves to clear a few empty bottles from the table, but Matt shakes his head. "You, too, rat. Leave all that shit."

It takes Jesse a moment to understand he's been invited, and another moment to try to figure out if _darts_ is codeword for something he wants no part in. Ultimately, he follows Lester and Matt out to the living room. It's what Jack told him to do, after all.

The whole group of them are gathered around an ordinary dart board, which is a relief before Jesse realizes all eyes are on him.

"Oughta put an apple on his head," Frankie says with a chuckle.

"That's arrows, dumbass," one of the other guys says.

Jesse takes a step backwards, but Lester maneuvered himself around and behind Jesse while he was distracted. Without bothering to bark an order, Lester slaps his hands against Jesse's back. Still sore and tender from the tattooing and burns, Jesse lets out a cry and stumbles toward the board without any further argument.

"Hold it over your face so you don't lose an eye," Kenny says as he plucks the board off the wall and shoves it into Jesse's hands. Jesse holds it up immediately, before any of them gets the chance to go for an early strike.

"Take a shot every time you miss," Matt says to the boys.

"You sure you don't wanna make that the other way around?"

"Hell of a lot more fun if we just aim for the rat."

Jesse shuts his eyes and stops listening to whatever they're saying. The radio's playing across the room—mostly static, but Jesse thinks he can hear a few familiar notes coming through. Who is that? The Eagles? Yeah, he thinks it sounds like "Hotel California".

His wondering is disturbed when a hot pain shoots down his arm. One of the darts is lodged in his forearm. Laughter fills the air and covers the sound of the radio. He presses his forehead to the back of the dart board, hiding as much of himself as he can. Someone retrieves the dart once they've all caught their breath.

Blood from the puncture runs slowly down to Jesse's elbow and drips onto the floor.


	107. Day 107

Jesse's changing the bandages on his arms when a figure darkens the bathroom doorway. He jerks back, startled, and doesn't relax when he realizes it's Uncle Jack there. In fact, he shrinks back against the wall and draws his arms up to his chest. His only shield.

Jack smirks in response to that, but he picks up the fresh bandages and gestures for Jesse to hold out his arms again. "Easier if I do it," he says.

Jesse complies reluctantly, fully expecting Jack to do something awful. God knows what. Grab a razor from the medicine cabinet and start peeling his skin off, maybe. But that isn't what happens. Jack inspects the wounds for a moment before his expert hands finish wrapping the gauze up to Jesse's elbows. Jesse watches him in silence with wide, unblinking eyes.

"Be happy they didn't use knives," Jack says when he's finished, setting the unused gauze aside.

"Don't give 'em any ideas," Jesse replies. A weak joke more than a request.

Jack taps Jesse's cheek with the back of his hand, which Jesse supposes is meant to be affectionate since it doesn't hurt. "Don't sweat it. You're with me today."

Jesse's heart sinks and it shows on his face.

Jack laughs at his expression, throwing an arm around Jesse's shoulders. That _does_ hurt, although it could be that Jack's simply forgotten about the burns. Maybe. "No guns," Jack promises. "Just boring shit. You up for that?"

Jesse responds with a withered look. Why ask a question when he has no choice in the matter?

"Good." Uncle Jack tugs him out of the bathroom, though he takes his arm off Jesse as soon as they're in the hall and there's a chance someone might spot them.

He leads Jesse outside and around the compound until they come to the hangar next to the one that houses the meth lab. Jesse's seen it every time he's been out, but he's never been inside. When Jack opens the door and flips the lights on, he realizes it's a storehouse. A gigantic storehouse filled with everything from ammo to fertilizer to dried food. A pile of unmarked cardboard boxes sits immediately next to the entrance. It's those that Jack points to. "Take the shit outta the boxes and put 'em on shelves. Think you can handle that?"

"Yes, sir," Jesse mumbles, stepping toward the closest one.

Jack puts out an arm to stop him and shoves a sheathed boxcutter into his hand. Jesse looks at the thing, then at Jack. The man doesn't need to say anything. Jesse gets it and Jack knows he gets it. The exchange in their eyes is enough.

Jesse flips the safety off and kneels beside the box before unsheathing the blade.


	108. Day 108

"What's all this stuff for, anyway?" Jesse asks as he climbs down the ladder.

Another day of organizing supplies like the zombie apocalypse is imminent or something. It seems… well, crazy. Jesse's starting to think that most of Walt's fortune went right into this storehouse. It's half the size of a Wal-mart and probably better stocked. Especially when it comes to ammo and bomb-making materials.

"What's it to you?" Uncle Jack replies, looking up from his newspaper.

"Just wondering."

"I like having whatever I want whenever I want it. Makes me feel secure. 'specially when you got niggers and commies running this country." Jack folds the paper up and tosses it aside. "Not that _you_ gotta worry about it. When it all goes to shit, we're eating you first."

Jesse shuffles over to the pile of boxes to unload two more cans of gasoline. "I finally get why you been fattening me up."

Jack smiles. He watches as Jesse climbs back up the ladder, and Jesse pretends not to notice but he always feels those eyes when they're on him. He figures it's the same for any small animal being stalked by a coyote.

That joke was all truth. These people make him feel like meat. Meat that's chewed up and spit out endlessly.

"How's Todd?" Jesse asks, dragging himself out of his self-pity.

"Like you care."

"I do care." With the cans in place on the highest shelf, Jesse glances over to Jack from his position at the top of the ladder. He likes this vantage better. "Anything happens to him, I'm a goner."

Uncle Jack nods, appreciating the honesty. "He oughta be back tomorrow, last I heard. 'less he gets his nut up and finally bones her."

Jesse turns his eyes to the ground. He doesn't like to think about Todd sleeping with Lydia. It makes him sick to his stomach, actually. There aren't two people in the world who deserve each other more, in all the worst ways.

"That's cute," Jack remarks. "The rat's jealous. Hey, quit moping up there."

Jesse comes back to life and climbs down the steps. "I could help you," he says as he passes by Jack's lawn chair on the way to the supply pile.

"Ain't that what you're doing now?"

Jesse pauses and looks back to Uncle Jack. "I mean with the bomb. I know how to do it."

Jack rolls his eyes. "Yeah, that's what I'm gonna do. Put the rat in charge of explosives."

"Safer than putting Todd in charge. Just saying."

"Put _myself_ in charge," Jack corrects. "Just 'cause I can't cook crank don't mean I ain't got a mind for chemistry." His lips curl into a smile once more. "That might be something you wanna remember when you're in the lab with my nephew, handling all those dangerous chemicals of your own."


	109. Day 109

It's not even dawn when Jesse hears the bedroom door creak open. He sleeps so lightly that it starts him awake. He strains to see who's there, but the darkness is too thick to tell for sure. Without any certainty, he shrinks back towards the wall to get as far as he can from whatever's coming.

A hand reaches out, fingers finding his hair to stroke it gently.

"Todd?" Jesse whispers, shaking.

"Yeah," that familiar voice replies. "Go back to sleep, Jess."

Instead Jesse sits up, his hand blindly following Todd's arm up to the rest of him. He's standing right beside the bed. That makes it easy for Jesse to encircle Todd's waist, hugging him tight. "Thank God," Jesse breathes as he buries his face into Todd's shirt.

"What's wrong?" Todd asks, apparently suspicious of the affection.

"Nothing. I missed you."

Todd's silent for a moment before he responds softly, "I missed you, too."


	110. Day 110

Jesse winces as Todd's fingers unintentionally scrape the burn on his back. Todd mumbles an apology and takes more care as he rubs another layer of salve over the wound, then lays a fresh bandage over it. What Jesse keeps reminding himself is that it isn't the worst pain he's been in, not by a longshot. But burns always hurt more than cuts. He wishes they'd taken a knife to him.

With the burn dressed, Jesse expects Todd to move away. Instead, he feels Todd's fingers tracing the tender lines of his fresh tattoos.

"How bad are they?" Jesse asks.

"They're not bad." Todd follows the distinct lines of the lightning bolt-shaped SS that's apparently now inked over Jesse's left kidney.

"...Right."

"You know this is a good thing, right, Jess? They don't give these to just anyone."

"I'm so honored," Jesse mutters dryly.

"I mean it." Todd steps around to replace all the supplies in the medicine cabinet, then leans back against the sink to look Jesse in the eye. "It means you're on your way to being one of us."

Jesse shakes his head. "They said it last week, there's no way I'll ever be a brother."

Todd smiles patiently and explains with slow words, "Jesse… All of us had to go through this stuff. It's how they make sure you're tough enough. You just have to pull through it. They don't act like it, but they want you around. You're bringing in more money than any of 'em. The only thing is, you gotta prove yourself outside the lab."

"How?"

"However they want."


	111. Day 111

There's some respite now that Todd's back at his side. The harassment never stops, but they've taken a break from outright abuse. Jesse doesn't think for a second that it has anything to do with his own behavior. He's still certain they're going to hate him no matter how much he cooperates. And he can see where they're coming from. Being a killer is one thing, but in this world, there's nothing worse than a traitor. What none of them understand—and what he doesn't care to explain to them—is that Walter White betrayed him first.

Anyway, none of it matters anymore. Does anyone in the world care what the truth is? Those agents on the outside, searching the whole country for Jesse Pinkman and the Great Heisenberg—they don't care what the truth is. They care about their résumés. And the media, they're just looking for a story. Any story, as long as it sounds good in a headline. The audiences in front of their TV sets don't care that he was manipulated and lied to and blackmailed into doing this in the first place. Would it make any difference to him at all if God were to come down and free him from this place? The only thing that would change would be the faces of his torturers. Everyone everywhere wants to see him burn.

Except Todd.

Jesse thinks a lot about the day Todd shot Drew Sharp. He'd had an opportunity back then to order Todd's death. He doubts Walt or Mike would have put up much of an argument. They presented the choice to him as if it was perfectly valid. And the temptation had been there. If Jesse had known what was coming, he wouldn't have hesitated. But Jesse showed him mercy. The only punishment he doled out was a punch to the face.

He wonders if Todd understands how close he came. Looking around, Jesse thinks that he must have. Todd knows the way this world works. But he doesn't know how much Todd _cares_ that he was nearly killed that day. He doesn't think Todd even registers that Jesse spared his life, or if he does, then he sees it in cold terms. Like a simple favor that should be returned, because that's courteous.

At the same time, Todd doesn't seem to hold a grudge about how Jesse treated him after that. He's comfortable with his status as a monster in a way that Jesse, despite all his words of supposed self-acceptance, never was. And he takes the abuse that comes with it as matter-of-fact.

There's a lot that Jesse can learn from Todd and all his empty smiles and vacant stares.


	112. Day 112

After the day's batch is set and left to cool, Jesse and Todd return to the clubhouse in good spirits. The cook felt like it went even smoother than the last, which means the quality might be even better this time. Jesse was starting to get worried that his brain would never heal from all the blunt force trauma, but the spells of dizziness and confusion are almost totally gone now. He's taken to faking them, however, to be sure that everyone continues handling him gently.

...Gently by Nazi standards, anyway.

The gang is gathered around the television watching some game or another. Jesse doesn't look over as he follows Todd straight to the kitchen. They're all too distracted to pay him much attention, anyway.

Todd grabs two beer bottles from the fridge and hands one over. Jesse clinks his bottle against Todd's in a toast. "Good job today," he says.

"That's my line," Todd says, smiling in his usual sheepish way, like he's embarrassed to be complimented.

"Tell it to me once we get the numbers."

"I don't think we gotta worry about the numbers." Todd leans back against the kitchen table. "She was blown away last time. You shoulda seen her face."

"Wish I coulda," Jesse says with a rueful smile before taking a good long swig.

"She was actually talking about coming down…"

That makes Jesse look over sharply. "Here?" And the better question: "—Why?"

Todd shrugs. "Check on things, I guess. She said something about seeing if any of the equipment needs upgrading. She was thinking, with the right stuff, you might even get to a hundred percent."

"I dunno if anybody in the world's ever cooked a hundred percent," Jesse mumbles nervously. What's he supposed to do if they keep raising the standards?

Todd chuckles and lays his hand on Jesse's shoulder. "It's just an idea. Nobody's complaining about ninety-eight percent. Those Czech people are eating it up."

Jesse nods and casts a glance off into the living room.

"She asked about you, too," Todd goes on. "If you were doing okay and all that."

Amazing. One day she orders his execution, the next she's asking after him. "What'd you tell her?"

"That you're getting better. That you're living inside with us now. She was surprised by that."

"No kidding." Jesse takes another sip of beer.

"She was happy about that, too. You know Lydia. She likes everybody getting along."

If _getting along_ is what's been going on here, it's news to Jesse. But he nods like that makes total sense. "I'm glad she's happy. That's all I wanna do, is make you guys happy."


	113. Day 113

Jesse and Todd both jerk awake as gunshots ring through the night air, loud and clear through the open window. Todd starts to sit up but Jesse pulls him back down and tugs him toward the edge of the bed. They both go tumbling to the floor in a tangle of blankets and sheets. A second later, one of the bullets flies through the room and hits the opposite wall. Chunks of plaster rain down onto them.

The commotion's woken the others, too. Jesse can hear them shouting and stomping out of their rooms. Once again, Todd sits up and moves like he intends to go join them. Jesse pins him down. It's dark, but he can see the baffled look on Todd's face. Jesse puts a finger over his lips to keep Todd from asking any questions out loud. Instead, he squirms under the bed and beckons for Todd to follow him.

Todd looks uncertain about it until another bullet flies through the window overhead. The yelling outside is getting louder and it becomes an open firefight as Jack and the gang must be defending their turf. Todd climbs under the bed and puts his arms around Jesse to shield him, since Jesse's the one closest to the outside wall.

Two minutes later, the last gunshot fires, followed by silence.

Todd shifts like he intends to leave their hiding spot, but Jesse stops him a third time, shaking his head and holding on. The two of them fall still and listen for any signs of life outside.

Finally, they hear boots coming down the hall. The door to the bedroom opens and someone flicks the light on, then kicks aside the blankets on the floor. "You two alive?"

It's Uncle Jack.

Todd scuttles out from under the bed and Jesse slowly moves to follow, peeking out with wide eyes. Jack's splattered with blood but he looks pleased to see Todd. "What're you doing under there?"

"Todd almost got shot through the head," Jesse says, pointing to the bullet hole left in the wall. He climbs to his feet and brushes the plaster out of his hair. He's still shaking with adrenaline.

Jesse half-expects Jack to say something derisive, like maybe about how they're a couple of bitches for hiding out instead of joining the fight. But Jack pats Todd on the shoulder. "Smart, keeping low," he says.

Todd, rather than being frightened or upset by any of this, still looks mostly confused. "Who were those guys, Uncle Jack?"

"Vagos," he answers, holding up a blood-stained patch that looks like it was ripped off a motorcycle jacket. "Fuckin' bikers. They were headed for our shit. The lab."

"How'd they know there's a lab here?" Jesse asks.

"Now that's a damn good question, ain't it." Jack sucks on his teeth with distaste as he glances over his shoulder.

"Somebody tipped 'em off," Jesse realizes out loud.

Todd opens his mouth but Jack interrupts, "You boys get some sleep. We're gonna clean this shit up best we can, but you're gonna have a lotta work come morning."


	114. Day 114

A pile of corpses are waiting for them when they walk into the lab, heads half-blown off and limbs tangled so that Jesse has trouble telling just how many of them there are and what piece belongs to which. The sight of it makes him feel lightheaded. For a moment, he worries he might faint altogether. But the moment passes and he pulls himself together. He's done this before. It's just never been quite so many.

When he glances at Todd, he's not surprised to find that the guy hardly looks bothered. Todd looks more worried than anything. Probably about how they're going to deal with all this mess.

Jesse turns to Uncle Jack. "You got enough barrels for all these guys?"

Jack nods. "Haul 'em outta the storehouse. Todd knows where to find 'em."

"Acid, too?"

"Yep, it's in there."

Todd looks at Jesse as if he's the one leading this, the same as with any task they do in the lab. "We better get to work," Jesse tells him.

The stench of it always takes Jesse back to the very first time, when he botched the disincorporation—as Walt put it—by doing it in his bathtub. Jesse can smell it clearly even with the ventilator on: pungent and sick, mingled with the rotting sweetness of flesh. It's like God designed that smell to make sure no one would ever do this to another human being. Bodies and entire lives dissolve and become nothing. Pink sludge and bits of calcium.

"Is this what you guys did with Mike?" Jesse asks suddenly.

Todd looks over at him. Jesse can see his brow furrow behind his mask, trying to make sense of the question or Jesse's motivation for asking it. "Yeah," he answers with some reluctance.

"When I came by Vamonos that day," Jesse says, and it's not really a question. "That's why you were there with him."

"Yeah."

Jesse nods and returns his attention to his work without another word.

One day, he knows, he'll end up in one of these barrels.


	115. Day 115

"It's gotta be that Lydia bitch," Kenny says. "It's the exact same as that job she had us pull in Phoenix."

It's just the four of them—Jack, Kenny, Todd, and Jesse—sitting around a card table in the storehouse where no one's going to overhear them. Jack has his iPhone on the table, live footage from the security cameras streaming on the screen. From the looks of it, everything's quiet outside.

Todd shakes his head firmly. "Lydia wouldn't do this."

"You're just saying that 'cause you're sweet on her," Kenny points out.

Uncle Jack shakes his head, too. "Toddy's right. Don't make any sense for it to be her. Not when everything's running smooth like it is. She wouldn't risk it."

"Well, what about _him?_ " Kenny jerks his chin at Jesse, who stiffens up with wide eyes at the sudden accusation. "He got as much reason as any."

"Oh yeah," Jack answers sarcastically. "I guess we shouldn'ta let him take that stroll over to California to meet up with his Vagos buddies. What, are you high?"

"Maybe he called somebody when you weren't looking," Kenny says with his eyebrows raised, like he thinks he's the smartest person in the room for landing upon that possibility. "Or maybe it's his partner."

The very suggestion of it stirs up a whisper of hope that Jesse hasn't felt in a long time. He swallows it down immediately. No, he can't let himself believe that Mr. White will ever come back for him. No one is ever going to rescue him from this place. He's already accepted that.

"I think Mr. White's probably dead by now," Todd says with a grimace and a glance to Jesse. "He had cancer. The bad kind."

Jesse nods in confirmation, his eyes fixed on the table in front of him and his face frozen in a carefully empty expression.

"Plus, every phone in the house is locked," Jack says. "Only way the rat'd be able to call somebody is if somebody else let him." He gives a stern look to Todd as if to say, _and you wouldn't do that, right?_

Todd gives a quick shake of his head.

Satisfied, Jack goes on, "We gotta face it, Kenny: this was an inside job. Somebody let 'em in through the gate. The power to the cameras was cut. And Matt's telling me he's pretty sure he got roofied, 'cause he was out cold in the tower when it all went down."

"Probably just stoned," Kenny mutters. But he sighs in acquiescence. "Okay, let's say it's an inside job. What're we gonna do about it? We can't send everybody home when we need 'em on guard more than ever. And if we go asking a buncha questions, we'll tip 'em off."

Jack nods with a deep frown. After a moment of consideration, his eyes slide over to Jesse.


	116. Day 116

The whole group watches as Jack and Todd march Jesse across the yard to the oubliette that was his home for his first couple of months in the compound. Jesse isn't wearing his chains, and he isn't fighting, but he doesn't look happy, either. He's trembling beneath Todd's grip, his eyes full of tears. He's terrified to return to that place. He imagines that once he's in the hole, he'll never see daylight again.

"Finally putting the rat back in the cage?" one of the guys laughs as Todd lets go of Jesse to open the hatch.

"Them Vagos boys were headed for our lab," Uncle Jack explains, turning to the crowd, "but they didn't know they were missing the most valuable piece. See, all that shit in there's just science junk. You buy it outta a catalog. This here—" He slaps Jesse on the shoulder. "—is the real money-maker. We gotta keep him where they won't find him."

Jesse begins to descend the ladder on his own, Todd crouching over the grate to help him. Just as Jesse's passed out of sight of the gang, he reaches up to grab Todd by the collar. "Don't leave me here," he whispers desperately.

Todd reaches for Jesse's hand to gently pry those fingers away from his shirt. "You're gonna be okay," he murmurs.

Jesse chokes on the words, "I won't. I won't." But he climbs down the ladder anyway, losing his grip and tumbling down the last few steps. The concrete floor is hard and cold, even with the day above so warm and sunny. He curls up there and watches through blurred vision as the ladder's pulled away and the grate slams shut overhead.


	117. Day 117

Jesse traces his fingertips over the dusty wall, feeling its old familiar cracks and crevices. He can't see anything in the dark of night. The tarp above blocks any of the distant lamplight, the stars and the moon. He hadn't thought he'd forgotten, but he had—what it is to be down here, alone and abandoned. It's almost worse without anything binding him, because he feels like he ought to be free now. He should be able to climb right out. He'd worked so hard to earn himself the right to movement and light and sound.

It's been a while since he's heard voices whispering in his ear, but he feels them all at the edges now: some comforting, some assuring him that he's going to die, and one very loud one that tells him he _won't_ die because he hasn't suffered enough. Jesse presses his ear to the wall to listen to the compound's mechanical heartbeat—to drown it all out—and when that isn't enough, he mumbles to himself. Anything at all. Chemical names. Song lyrics. The words his mother said about him on TV.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. That was part of the deal. That's why he put up with all of Todd's shit. He was never supposed to be locked in here again.

He cracks his fingernails trying to scale the walls then slides to the floor, sucking the blood off of them like he's five years old again. The hours stretch into days, into months; the time he spent in this Hell. He relives it all, the horror of being stripped of humanity and forgotten. The ghosts were all waiting for him to return.

...Did he ever leave at all? Did he imagine everything up above? Has he ever existed outside of this place?


	118. Day 118

Jesse wakes to the sound of the grate creaking open. It's still too dark to see who's there. When he squints upward, he only sees the vague outline of a man who could be anyone. He squirms out of the way to make room for the ladder as its lowered down. When his visitor begins to descend, Jesse cowers against the wall and prays silently.

The man kneels in front of him and Jesse feels hot breath on his face, thick with the stench of chewing tobacco, seconds before a rough hand smothers his nose and mouth. "Shhhhh…"

Jesse lets out a guttural whimper. He never learned this one's name, but he remembers what the man wanted from him three months ago. When he couldn't get it, he'd spit his tobacco in Jesse's face.

The man leans forward and Jesse feels the cold barrel of a gun teasing his temple. "I ain't here to hurt you, son, but I _will_ shoot if you yell. Hear me out for a second before you start getting rowdy." He removes his hand to allow Jesse to breathe, though his callused fingers stroke Jesse's lips and chin with a threatening touch, as if they might rip his jaw off at any moment. "You gonna be a good boy?"

Jesse jerks his head in a quick nod.

"Glad to hear it." The man pries Jesse's mouth open and hooks his thumb over Jesse's lower teeth, running over them idly while he explains, "You oughta be happy to see me. I'm getting you outta this place. Where we're going, I'm gonna treat you real good. Nobody's gonna be mistreating you like these assholes been doing. You'll see. Jack don't take care of his boys like I do. But I can't get you outta here if you're gonna be kicking up a fuss."

Jesse nods again. The man removes his thumb from Jesse's mouth to let him respond, and Jesse whispers, "Please—just get me out. I'll do whatever you want."

"That's what I like to hear." The man holsters his gun at his waist and slides his arm around Jesse, pulling him to his feet.

"How're we getting out?" Jesse asks, clinging to the man with both arms as he's led to the ladder.

"Just follow me," the man answers, caressing Jesse's beard one more time before disentangling from him so he can begin the climb.

As he pulls away, Jesse's hand slides down the curve of the man's body to tug the gun free from his waistband. Before the man has a chance to react, Jesse pushes the barrel against his spine and fires.

He jumps out of the way as the man's body tumbles to the ground, searching for the wall so he can steady himself. He's both blind and deaf now, ears ringing from the gunshot, so he squeezes his eyes shut and waits for it to stop.

He almost fires again when he feels hands grip him by the shoulders. He opens his eyes to find Todd there, his face illuminated by someone else's flashlight. Jesse drops the gun by reflex and coils his arms around Todd, shaking.

"You did it," Todd's saying, his voice muffled and far away. "You did it, Jess. You're okay."


	119. Day 119

It seems like Jack knows how to keep a man alive for all kinds of reasons. Even all the way in Todd's bedroom, Jesse can hear the screams coming from the tool shed. They go on for hours but pause periodically. Maybe questions are being answered or maybe the man's passed out. Jesse tries to ignore the sounds as they echo across the compound, but he can't sleep. He ends up picking at his bandaged fingertips and just listening, grateful that it's happening to someone else for once.

He doesn't know if that's terrible of him or not.

He tries not to think about it, the offer that the man made. The promise of freedom. It rolls around in his head anyway. Maybe there's an alternate universe out there in which he didn't fire the gun. Is it a better life, hanging out with a bunch of bikers in California? Probably not. He'd probably be getting his ass pounded every day. Torture comes in every flavor and Jesse's starting to believe there's no one in the world who doesn't want to put some kind of mark on him.

He'll keep telling himself that, anyway, because he willingly shot the only man who'd ever offered to take him away from here, and now that man is being torn to pieces just like he was.


	120. Day 120

"Got a few names outta him," Jack's telling Kenny as the three of them watch Todd wheel the barrel out of the lab and over to the pickup truck.

"Anybody we know?" Kenny asks.

"Nope." Jack takes a puff of his cigarette. "Know where they're staying in town, though."

"You wanna start a war over this?"

"Vagos started it. I'm finishing it."

"Whatever you say."

Jesse drifts away from the pair, walking over to Todd so he can steady the hand truck while Todd wrestles with adjusting the ramp. Todd shakes his head as soon as he sees him. "You don't have to," he tells Jesse. "I've got this."

Jesse takes hold of the barrel anyway. "It's my mess."

"I'm sorry we used you like that," Todd says, stopping to face him. "It wasn't right, going back on my word."

"I'm used to it."

Todd examines Jesse's expression. There isn't much to see. Jesse isn't even looking at him, but at the pinkish fluid of the body dissolving in the translucent barrel, and his eyes are perfectly empty. "It won't happen again," Todd tells him. "I don't like lying."

"It's not a lie if you believed it when you said it," Jesse murmurs.

"Hustle up," Jack interrupts, calling across the yard.

Todd looks away from Jesse to call back, "Sorry, Uncle Jack," and moves to push the barrel up onto the truck bed.


	121. Day 121

He opens the bathroom door to find Lester and Frankie waiting for him, and he doesn't have a chance to slam it shut before they're forcing their way in. Frankie blocks the doorway as Lester shoves Jesse back, cornering him in the tub. "Please—" Jesse starts to say, but Lester cuts him off by seizing his throat and pushing him back against the tile.

"There's a razor," Frankie says, jerking his chin toward the medicine cabinet.

"Nah," Lester says. He kicks a foot out to turn on the faucet and the tub begins to fill with ice-cold water. "I hear drowning's a hell of a way to go."

Jesse claws at the hand around his neck, his lips moving in voiceless protest. He already can't breathe, and as the water climbs rapidly to his ankles, Lester pushes him down toward it. Jesse loses his footing and slips, landing hard on the porcelain. Lester's grip loosens in that moment and Jesse drags in a gasp of air before he's pushed down again.

Frankie leaves his post by the door to peer over Lester's shoulder. "Hurry it the fuck up," he says, and bends to check the pressure on the water to make sure it's on full blast.

Lester reaches down to twist Jesse's head, turning his face into the water. Jesse sputters and spits and kicks his feet against the far end of the tub. It's a dull thud, not nearly as effective as a scream would be, but Lester's making sure he can't get a whisper out—and water fills his lungs as he tries. Frankie grabs him by the legs and wrenches them to flip him onto his belly.

Jesse's head submerges completely and for a moment all he can hear is the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. Then he snaps back and breaks free of Lester's hold, picking himself up out of the water to cough and pull in another deep breath. As he feels Lester's palm pushing against his spine to get him underwater again, the sound of a gun cocking makes all three of them freeze.

"Now I know the two of you ain't really this stupid," Uncle Jack says calmly from the doorway.

Lester and Frankie both let go of Jesse and turn around. Jesse falls forward into the water before scrambling onto his knees, looking over the side of the tub. Jack and Todd are both standing there with pistols drawn and pointed at Jesse's attackers. Todd's eyes, however, are on Jesse, and Jesse's eyes fill with tears of relief when he meets his gaze.

"You're putting a rat over one of our own?" Lester growls. "How long're you gonna let this shit go on?"

"That son-of-a-bitch brought Vagos to our doorstep and you're calling him 'one of our own'?" Jack retorts, incredulous. "You oughta be thanking this boy, not drowning 'im. He puts food in your mouth and makes sure nobody steals it, neither."

"Wait 'til it's _your_ back he's sticking a knife in," Frankie mutters.

"I'll take my chances," Jack scoffs. "Step off now, both of you. You wanna talk about this, we're talking about it somewhere that ain't a goddamn crapper."

Jesse shrinks back as both Frankie and Lester turn to give him one final glare. Then they move to follow Jack out of the bathroom and down the hall, leaving Jesse alone with Todd.

Todd tucks his gun into his jeans and steps over to Jesse's side. He pulls a towel off the rack, drapes it across Jesse's shoulders, and rubs him down with it gently as he looks Jesse over for damage. "You okay?" he asks, quiet.

Jesse shakes his head before slumping over to vomit out the water he'd inhaled.


	122. Day 122

"Where is everybody?" Jesse asks.

The whole compound is abandoned, save Todd, who's leading him by the hand across the dirt yard. It's a windy day, dust kicking up around them and making the sky greyish-pink when it ought to be clear. Maybe there's a fire burning somewhere. Jesse can't tell if he smells ashes on the breeze or if it's in his head.

"They're taking care of business," Todd replies. "Don't worry about them."

Of course, Jesse's always going to worry about them. His survival depends on it. But he nods and squints against the flying sand, following where Todd leads him. He assumes at first that they're going to cook. But Todd doesn't turn towards the lab. Instead, they walk to the gate.

When Todd takes out his keys, Jesse pulls away and retreats two steps backwards. "What's happening?" he asks warily. "What're you doing?"

Todd looks perplexed by the question, like he can't figure out why Jesse seems upset. "I'm opening the gate."

"Yeah. Why?"

"Don't you wanna go outside?" Todd asks.

It's a trick of some kind. Jesse looks around, eyes darting toward the surrounding buildings, searching for signs of the others. He looks to the tower, unmanned for once, then to the security cameras. He takes another step back.

"It's okay, Jess," Todd reassures him.

"I wanna cook," Jesse says. "I wanna go to the lab. Can we go to the lab now?"

Todd reaches out to take Jesse by the wrist again. "We'll cook in a little bit."

"I wanna cook _now_ ," Jesse insists, his eyes watering against the dust. "Please. Please, just take me back to the lab."

"Don't you trust me, Jesse?"

Jesse sweeps his gaze over the compound once more. There are shadows lurking everywhere in the dim, sickly sunlight. He feels the barrels of guns trained on him from some vague distance. He moves closer to Todd again just to put a shield between himself and them. "'course I trust you, but—"

"Then just stay with me," Todd chirps with a smile as he unlocks the gate and slides it open.

The entire world stands open before Jesse, but he doesn't move until Todd tugs at his arm and compels him. Jesse presses himself up against Todd as they cross the threshold, squeezing his eyes shut in anticipation of an onslaught. When nothing hits him but the wind and the sand, he opens his eyes again. Only the empty road and the desert lie ahead of them.

"Are you scared?" Todd asks. There's nothing menacing in his voice. He's simply wondering.

Jesse answers with all honesty, "Yes."

"More scared than you were yesterday?"

Again: "Yes."

"You don't have to be scared when you're with me," Todd promises, turning to look at Jesse. "I'm the one who decides what happens to you. Nobody else gets to do that. You get that, right? You've seen what happens every time they try."

Jesse meets Todd's gaze. It isn't cold out, but his teeth are chattering.

"You didn't run away with him when you had the chance," Todd goes on. "Why?"

With that prompt, Jesse begins to understand. "...Because he wasn't you."

Todd gives a slight nod, beaming a smile at Jesse again. "You aren't trapped in there, Jess. The outside is always here. And I can always bring you here. You don't need anybody else for that."

"I get it. But why're you telling me this now?" It hits him a second after he asks, and he answers his own question, "Because you think I'll run. Because they're gonna keep trying to kill me."

Todd doesn't confirm or deny it, waiting for Jesse to go on.

"You're gonna protect me," Jesse continues with less certainty. "I don't have to worry about that, because you'll make sure they don't get me. And if it ever comes time to run, you'll be the one to take me."

Todd reaches up to grip the side of Jesse's face, stroking it with his palm. "You're really important to me, Jess. Whatever happens, I gotta keep you alive. That's more important than anything else in the world."

There's something strange in the way Todd says that. They might be the most passionate words anyone's ever declared to Jesse. But they sound rehearsed. Recited. Like an echo of someone else's words, written on a script for Todd to deliver. Even so, Jesse doesn't question them. He forces a trembling smile to his lips and whispers, "Thank you."


	123. Day 123

Someone is in the cage.

Jesse hears the man mumbling as he and Todd walk to the lab and the sound freezes him in his tracks. The prisoner's talking to the walls, the same way Jesse's done a thousand times. Jesse can't hear what he's saying, but he's sure that they're prayers. Everyone prays when they're in a hell like this—maybe not to God, but to _somebody_.

When Todd realizes that Jesse's no longer following him, he turns around. His eyes drift to the grate, then back to Jesse, and he raises a hand in caution. "Don't."

But Jesse's already shuffling toward the hole, slow steps bringing him closer to the desperate pleading. It could be his own voice he's hearing. It might as well be. As he nears the grate, he expects to look down and find himself looking back up at him.

Todd seizes him by the wrist before he reaches it. "We've got work to do," he tells Jesse firmly.

Jesse snaps back to look at him, eyes wide. "Who's in there?"

"That's nothing you gotta worry about now."

The incoherent murmurs from below have stopped. The man is listening to them. A moment later, he calls out, "Hello?"

Todd doesn't blink. His eyes remain fixed on Jesse. He doesn't want to repeat himself.

Jesse's lips part like he wants to answer the man's call, but he doesn't make a sound. He gives the grate a final, lingering stare before giving in and falling in step with Todd.


	124. Day 124

The day is unbearably hot. The clubhouse hasn't been upgraded to central air conditioning despite the gang's newfound riches, and Todd's bedroom doesn't have a window unit. Neither he nor Jesse can muster up the energy to move. They'd head into the living room if they could, but they don't want to risk the gang's ire. So Jesse remains sprawled on the floor while Todd lies on the bed. The iPod speakers bleat out cheerful tunes in total dissonance with the atmosphere, drowning out the wails of a man at the bottom of a hole not ten yards away.

Jesse can't help imagining it.

The cage is often cool. At night, it's downright freezing. Jesse remembers how, in the early months, his teeth would chatter and he could see his breath as soon as the sun set. It was still winter then, but even the summers nights are cold.

The days, however… The days are sweltering now, with the harsh sun beating down onto the desert. The concrete floor of the cage, which keeps so cool in the shade, also becomes searing to the touch when sunrays have been hitting it for hours.

When he was a kid, he'd run around barefoot in the backyard. It was always a race to get from the back door to the grass without burning his feet on the stone patio. Without the tarp to shield it from the sun, the cage heats up the same way. But there's nowhere to run. You're surrounded by four walls too tall to climb and hot enough to blister the hands that touch it.

There's a man down there. Someone's left the tarp off the grate. Jesse could walk outside and help him. He could at least cover the hole, provide some relief. But he doesn't. He keeps lying there, cheek to the cool floor—enjoying the privilege of being in a bedroom, at least.


	125. Day 125

Jesse's dozing sometime around noon when the bedroom door opens. Todd's on his feet immediately. Jesse's a bit slower to rise, his joints and muscles always stiffer than Todd's. Uncle Jack is at the doorway, and he doesn't comment on their indolence as he looks between the two of them. The only question he directs to Todd is, "He cooking today?"

Todd shakes his head. "Ain't time yet, Uncle Jack. We gotta—"

Jack waves off the explanation and beckons Jesse. "Then he's with me."

Jesse and Todd exchange an uncertain glance. Todd obviously doesn't know what this is about. "Should I come with, or..?"

"Reckon that'll be necessary?" Jack replies, narrowing his eyes at Jesse, just daring him to argue.

Jesse doesn't. He comes forward, shuffling to Jack's side. When he looks back, Todd has that look on his face that's a cross between discomfort and bewilderment. The closest he ever gets to looking worried about anything.

Jack takes Jesse by the shoulder and half-pushes him out the door. Jesse's ushered through the house like that, out to the yard and across the wide stretch of dirt. It doesn't take Jesse long to realize where they're headed: the tool shed.

"Wait—" He starts to slow his step, his heart sinking to his gut. "Wait, wait."

Jack presses him on, shoving Jesse forward so his heels skid across the sand. "Don't be a pussy."

Jesse's voice rises as he tries to twist around and catch Jack's eye, "I didn't do anything. I just did what you told me to do!"

They reach the shed. Jack kicks the door open and drags Jesse through it, ignoring his protests... and Jesse calms down instantly when he finds that the gang isn't waiting for them there. Only, his relief doesn't last long. As his eyes adjust to the light, he realizes that there _is_ someone in there. That someone is hanging from the meat hook, where Jesse himself was once suspended.

Jesse takes a step back and bumps into Jack, who elbows him forward and shuts the door behind them. "What's the matter?" Jack chuckles. "You feel better now, don'tcha?"

Jesse doesn't answer. He swallows, his throat like sandpaper. He doesn't want to look, but he can't help himself. His gaze moves from the feet up, over blood and broken flesh, until he meets the victim's eyes. The man is still alive, still conscious and trembling and whimpering around the rag in his mouth. He looks younger than Jesse. He might be Todd's age. He's still wearing his motorcycle jacket.

Vagos.

This was going to be their man on the outside, probably the one who would have been waiting to get Jesse and his kidnapper away from the compound. Their getaway driver. An accomplice. His would-be rescuer. The description of him changes depending on who's telling the story, but Jesse understands: to Jack and the Brotherhood, this man is the enemy.

Jesse doesn't realize that Jack's moved until he's placing a pipe wrench in his hand. Jesse tears his gaze away finally to look at Jack in stunned confusion. "Don't just stand there," Jack says in answer to that look. "Break his toes."

Jesse drops his gaze to the wrench. It's suddenly an unfamiliar thing. A hateful thing. It used to be nothing but a tool.

"Break his toes," Jack repeats slowly. He doesn't need to voice the threat that underlines the order. It's understood.

Jesse drops the wrench anyway.

"Suddenly you're too good for this, huh?" Jack sneers, circling around Jesse until he's standing right beside the biker. "We were good enough when you were eating our food. Watching our TV. Sleeping under our roof every night."

Jesse turns his face away, staring at the ground.

Jack goes on, "See, I knew it. Toddy's all convinced you're finally accepting your place in all this. He thinks you're ready to be one of us. But I said to him, nah, you ain't. You ain't never. You still got it in your head you're better than us. But you know we all watched your confession tape, right? Words right outta your mouth, all the shit you done. For _crank_. Not some noble, selfless, yadda-yadda whatever-the-fuck reason. All for your two-bit meth operation.

"Oh, but all that was okay. It's just this— _this_ is beneath you. You'll shoot an unarmed man in the face for taking your job, but _this_ …"

The mention of Gale has Jesse flinching, his shoulders dropping lower and lower with each word. He wants to fall to the ground and wrap his arms around himself, to fold in until he disappears entirely. But he remains standing, somehow.

"I know why you're like this," Jack says. "He was like this, too. Your sugar daddy, Heisenberg."

Jesse snaps up at that, glaring at Jack.

Jack nods, grinning. "Yeah. All justifications, that one. Nice, pretty stories. Even when he was telling us to kill you, he told it pretty. Do it quiet, he said. Do it easy. 'cause you were like family, he said. He didn't want you to see it coming. Like that'd make it any better. You telling yourself pretty stories like that now, rat? You pretending you ain't helping us do our work every single day, just 'cause you won't pick up that wrench with your own hand?"

Jesse's eyes remain fixed on Jack now, unblinking. His whole body shakes with a rage he's struggling to contain.

"Ain't it time to stop pretending?" Jack jerks his chin toward the wrench at Jesse's feet. "Pick it up. Either do what I say or bash my fuckin' brains in. Let's get this over with."


	126. Day 126

"This one guy, it took five of us just to get him tied down. And that was after Uncle Jack had already hit him upside the head, like… blood all down his face. I don't think the guy could see where he was going. He was like a wild animal, just swinging his arms around, hitting everything he could hit. He threw me clear across the room. Five feet, maybe? And that was while all the other guys were holding him, too. It was really something."

Todd turns Jesse's hand over, running the washcloth over his palm.

"Eventually Kenny came in with some tranq. Jabbed him in the back of the neck. They had to give the guy two shots before he was totally out. Then we had to drag him from the car. Boy… We shoulda got a wheelbarrow or something. Then again, he probably woulda broke it. Big guy."

He dips Jesse's hand into the water, scraping the blood out from under his fingernails. "Gosh, it really gets in there, doesn't it?"

Jesse stares at the tile in front of him. The streaks of grime. Mold in the crevices where the grout's chipped away. Black gouges in the white. Pale flesh splitting open—

"Other hand," Todd says, and Jesse turns slightly in the tub to offer it up without looking. Todd falls silent for a moment, focusing on his task. Only once he's rinsing Jesse's hand does he pipe up again, "You're lucky he was small. Uncle Jack says he tried to rip your throat out once you guys started on his teeth."

Jesse closes his eyes, rolling his head back as he sucks in a deep breath.

"Don't worry. You did good." Todd pats him on the arm, then rubs the washcloth up over his shoulder. "Uncle Jack was really impressed. I could tell. He lost a bet, but he wasn't too sour about it." Todd snickers about that.

"...Did the guy live?" Jesse asks, finally speaking up.

"Oh yeah, he's still alive. Uncle Jack's got some more work to do on him."

Jesse opens his eyes again. He looks down at the pinkish bathwater, then turns his head to look past Todd, to the medicine cabinet.

Todd looks over his shoulder. When he looks back at Jesse, he has a knowing little smile on his face. "I don't think you wanna be in handcuffs again, do you?" He brushes his fingers through Jesse's hair before his palm settles on the back of Jesse's neck, redirecting Jesse's gaze to him.

Jesse stares at him dully, making no attempt to deny that he was thinking about the razorblades in there.

Todd leans over the side of the tub, pressing his forehead to Jesse's. "That feeling's gonna go away," Todd tells him softly. "I promise."


	127. Day 127

Jane takes his hand to guide him, slowing the stroke of his paintbrush as it smears a gradient of titanium white and cadmium red across the surface of his canvas. "Like that," she says. "You have to be patient. I know that's hard for you—"

"Shut up," Jesse laughs, struggling to keep his hand from shaking.

"I _know_ that's hard for you," Jane repeats with emphasis, "but oil's tricky. Especially the blending part."

"Can't I just cover it and start over if I screw it up?"

"You could, but then you'd have to wait 'til this layer dries. Which means you still—"

"—have to be patient," Jesse finishes for her, nodding sagely. "Got it."

Jane leans up against the wall, watching his face rather than the painting he's working on. Somehow that makes him even more self-conscious. He keeps glancing at her instead of the flowers he's supposed to be studying. He doesn't really mind, not when she's smiling the way she is, but it's distracting.

"Maybe I oughta paint you instead," he remarks slyly.

"A nude?" Jane jokes, eyebrows raised.

"Now _there's_ an idea!"

Jane pushes away from the wall again, taunting, "That's for the advanced class." Her fingers trail over Jesse's shoulder as she glides behind him.

That doesn't help. Jesse groans. "This is taking forever. Can I switch to the other paint? The plastic one?"

"Acrylic," Jane corrects. "And you can't switch halfway through. Just finish this section and we'll let it dry. You're almost done with it, anyway."

"But flowers are boring."

Jane leans in to whisper in his ear, "Here's the trick." She directs his attention to the arrangement of dried desert roses piled on the table in front of them. "Think about me while you're painting those flowers. Give them all of your love. If you wanna paint me so bad, paint them _like_ you're painting me. That's all art is, anyway: looking at something and turning it into something else. Something beautiful."

Jesse puts his paintbrush down and turns to Uncle Jack. "I think he stopped breathing."

Jack sighs and steps forward, holding his beer bottle up to the man's slack-jawed mouth. A pale fog spreads over the glass. "Nah, he's still going."

"But I should stop, right? I don't think he's feeling it anymore."

Jack chuckles at that, picks up the switchblade, and places it back in Jesse's hand.


	128. Day 128

It has to be a knife. Jack still doesn't trust him with a gun, even for this: the ritual slaying that will see him acknowledged, irrevocably, as one of theirs. Every single one of them gathered around today was once forced to kill a man in order to join the Brotherhood. Todd probably committed his initiation murder when he was a kid, like Tomás. It's simply the way. The blood that binds these people together is the blood of their victims, and this is the family that Jesse's now becoming a part of.

Jack's almost certainly doing this as a private joke. He enjoyed Mr. White's words too much, enjoyed repeating them. He loves the irony—that the only people to call Jesse family are the people who want him dead.

But there's a practical benefit, too: they won't touch him again. Not unless he betrays them. He's still a captive, but he won't be the gang's toy anymore. When Jesse tries to find some relief in that, he can't seem to muster it up. But Todd looks happy. Beaming, actually, like this is Jesse's graduation day instead of something so terrible that Jesse himself can't process it.

The Vagos kid is slumped in the middle of their circle, his forehead pressed to the sand. Jesse bends over him from behind to grab a fistful of his hair, pulling him into a kneeling stance and putting Jesse's handiwork on display for all the brothers to admire. When Jesse glances up at them, they seem surprised. Impressed, even. But Jesse's mostly looking for the signal from Uncle Jack.

Jack nods at him, a crooked little smile playing on his lips.

Jesse doesn't take his eyes off Jack as he drags the blade across the boy's throat, putting him out of his misery. Jesse knows that Jack knows that he's imagining Jack in this kid's place. The bloodthirst is written in his eyes. Jack seems to take pleasure in it, as if it's his accomplishment, nurturing the animal in Jesse and pushing him to this.

But he doesn't understand that this act, after everything, is merciful.

Jesse won't show mercy when he finally gets to Jack.


	129. Day 129

"It's nice, right?" Todd reaches over to straighten the collar of Jesse's flannel shirt, then steps back to let Jesse look in the mirror.

Jesse stares forward the way Todd expects him to, but he sees nothing. His vision is a blur, out of focus, as he looks out past the mirror and past his reflection into the great big emptiness that seems to make up the entire world now. Mr. White once told him that nothing's really solid, that there's space between every atom that makes up everything in the universe, and there's way more space than there is matter. He'd laughed. That hadn't made any sense to him at the time. Everything felt so real back then.

"Does it fit okay?" Todd prompts him.

"Yeah," Jesse answers without a thought.

"Do you wanna try the next one?"

"Sure."

Todd steps up to unbutton the shirt again. He doesn't have to. It isn't as if Jesse's handcuffed anymore. But he either enjoys it or he's sensing that Jesse isn't up to the task himself.

"I wasn't sure about colors," Todd says to fill the silence. "I couldn't remember what you liked. Lydia likes blue a lot. Like that really dark blue, but really bright? But, um, I wasn't sure if you liked it, so I got the stuff that wasn't so bright."

"It's fine," Jesse murmurs, shrugging his arms out of the sleeves. In the mirror, he catches a glimpse of the scars across his bare torso before he blinks and looks to the ceiling instead.

Todd drapes the next shirt across Jesse's shoulders. "By the way, I made space in the closet for all this stuff. So you don't have to worry about it."

"You didn't have to go to all the trouble," Jesse utters hollowly.

"Of course I did," Todd laughs as he helps Jesse into the shirt. Ashy brown. Like dust. He steps around to button it for Jesse, trying to catch his eyes. "You earned it, Jess. It's important you feel appreciated."

_It's important._ Did he read that in a book somewhere? Jesse looks at him. "Yeah," he says. "I do. Thank you."

Todd smiles and smoothes the wrinkles across Jesse's chest. "I like this one."

"Me, too," Jesse says without even looking at it.


	130. Day 130

"Hey, Pinkman, get in here."

Jesse turns away from the refrigerator to look over the top of the breakfast bar and into the living room, where Lester, Kenny, and Todd are gathered around the television.

"Hurry," Kenny says, waving him over. "You're gonna miss it."

Jesse takes cautious steps, anticipating a trick of some kind. He doesn't trust the protection of his upgraded status, nor does he trust Todd's promise to keep him safe. But when he reaches Todd's side, no one moves to grab him, and some of the tension leaves his shoulders…

...until he looks at the TV screen.

"That's your brother, right?" Todd observes, helpful as always.

And it is Jake. A Jake who looks much older than he did when Jesse last saw him. Even older than he'd looked in the glimpses Jesse had caught on the taped news reports Todd showed him. Teenagers do that, don't they? Grow up in the blink of an eye. The Jake on the screen looks about as old as Jesse was when he first started slinging dope. Jesse has no idea how old Jake really is now. He doesn't know what day it is or how long he's been trapped here.

When Jesse doesn't answer, Todd prods him again, "He won something."

They don't want to show Jesse that Jake won something. They couldn't give a shit about it. When Jesse turns away from the screen to look at Todd, his eyes are wide and pleading. He doesn't need to be reminded. He's carrying on as best as he can. He won't give them a reason to murder his family.

"Some kinda journalism award," Kenny says. "Comes with a scholarship. Lucky kid."

"He really looks like you," Lester adds. "I mean, before the whole…" With a grin, he gestures to his face, implying Jesse's disfigurement.

"I gotta eat before we get the cook started," Jesse says quietly to Todd, his eyes doing more than his voice to beg leave.

"Aren't you happy for him, Jess?"

Jesse gives the screen a final glance. Jake himself doesn't look happy. He looks tired. It's a whole different shitshow out there, isn't it? Jesse's surprised his infamy hasn't completely ruined Jake's life. "He's always been smarter than me," Jesse answers neutrally.

Then he lifts his chin and addresses the other two, "Does anybody else want a sandwich?"


	131. Day 131

As he's placing the last tray into the cooler, Todd says, "I gotta give Lydia a call."

"Go ahead," Jesse answers, bending to pick up a jug of acetone. "I'll meet you back at the house."

"You sure you don't need any help cleaning up?"

"I like doing it." Jesse turns to give Todd a little smile. "Seriously, enjoy your call. And, hey, tell her something nice that ain't all business, too. Girls like that. Like just that you were thinking about her."

Todd brightens at the advice. "Wow, thanks, Jess. You're a real expert on this stuff, huh?"

"I been around," Jesse replies humbly with a shrug. "Anyway, take your time. I'll see you at dinner."

Todd gives him a nod and practically skips out of the lab, he has so much bounce in his step.

As soon as he's out of sight, the smile disappears from Jesse's face. He puts down his cleaning supplies and walks to the doorway to make sure no one's in sight, lighting a cigarette to cover his surveillance. He smokes the whole thing down, allowing enough time to Todd to return if Lydia decided not to answer the phone. When Todd doesn't come, Jesse crushes his cigarette underfoot and shuffles back into the lab.

There's a blind spot. He's figured it out. He's spent a lot of time furtively watching the security cameras, how far their necks can turn and what obstacles are in the way. One of the ventilation shafts completely blocks the view to the far south side, at the very end of the dog run. Of course, knowing about the spot doesn't do him much good. There's nothing near it. If he gets close to one of the machines on either side, then he's on camera again. The only thing hidden from view is the chain hanging from the dog run, the one that he used to be locked to.

Jesse reaches up and gives it a tentative pull. They made it sturdy up there. Probably so he could throw his whole weight into it and it still wouldn't give, so he couldn't escape if he tried.

He scans the room once more and listens closely. No one's nearby. It's too hot for any of the guys to be hanging around outside. Anyway, they tend to avoid the lab on account of the smell. Without Todd to babysit him, he's completely alone.

Jesse takes the cord and tries it out, slowly winding it around his neck. How bad is it going to be, really? Especially compared to the alternative. Revenge is a lot to hope for. A lot to risk, when he thinks about yesterday. When he thinks about Andrea. They could keep doing it, going down a list of people Jesse's ever known and killing them one by one. Maybe it was stupid of him to think he might have justice one day. There are easier ways to make sure no one else dies for him.

The knot keeps slipping every time Jesse tries it. He isn't good at tying them, plus the cord is tough to twist around. That's one thing about it being made of metal. But if he can get it to hold, then it won't break when his weight is on it.

His palms are getting sweatier the more he wrestles with it. When it isn't sliding off his neck, it's sliding out of his grip. So frustrating. The more he fights with it, the harder it gets. It ought to be getting easier, but it doesn't. And every minute he wastes on it is more opportunity for someone to find him and rescue him before it has a chance to do its job.

Finally, he tosses it away with an angry sob and buries his face in his hands. He breathes in deeply and exhales slowly, holding himself like that until his heart stops pounding so hard.

He has to practice. That's all. It won't happen today, but he'll find a chance.


	132. Day 132

Sometimes the wind blows and Jesse thinks he can still hear screams coming from the cage. He hears it again shortly after dawn, when he's smoking his first cigarette of the day. Todd's asleep inside. The whole compound is quiet this early. But the wind gives a howl and the tarp flutters over the grate.

Jesse shuffles over to investigate, his steps slow and reluctant. He doesn't really believe in ghosts, though he sees them all the time. This cage is particularly haunted. It sends shudders through his body. Those tormented screams sputter and choke when the wind dies down, then rise up again as he gets closer. A strong gust sends ash and glowing cinders scattering out in front of him, a guiding path in the dim lavender light of morning.

When he reaches the edge of it, he kneels down and throws the tarp off of it so that he can look past the bars into the darkness below. There's no one there, of course. But there's the feeling of it. Like warmth on a seat recently vacated.

Jesse drops his cigarette into the oubliette, watching the little orange light dance then burst as it hits the floor.

Maybe he can find somewhere high enough for a jump. He turns his eyes to the tower, where one of the gang is almost certainly watching him through a scope right now. He doesn't know how he'd get close, let alone make the entire climb before someone caught him. But it's the only building tall enough to kill him.

—No, it's a bad plan. He scraps it.

"You got any bright ideas?" Jesse asks Mr. White. "I mean, you're the expert on killing me, right?"

He's answered with stubborn silence.


	133. Day 133

It's another scorching-hot day. Though it's technically safe for him to hang out in the living room now, Jesse still prefers the dizzying heat of Todd's bedroom over the presence of the others, and it seems Todd prefers Jesse's company over comfort, too. The both of them doze side-by-side on the cool floor until the door opens and startles them awake.

Todd starts to rise but Uncle Jack shakes his head and waves for him to stay where he is. "Just him," Jack says with a nod to Jesse.

A wave of nausea washes over Jesse as he climbs to his feet.

Jack leads him outside without offering any explanations, and Jesse doesn't ask. Vague dread is better than the certainty that he's about to face some new horror. He'd rather enjoy sweet ignorance for a while longer.

But Jack doesn't take him to the tool shed. They walk over to a building that looks like it was once either a garage or a stable. Or one repurposed as the other. It's cooler than it is out in the sun, but Jesse starts shaking the moment they step inside. He has a feeling it'd be better to burn out there than face whatever awaits him in the dark, lurking behind one of these partitions.

They come to a long stall lit by a single fluorescent tube overhead. The greenish glow illuminates the space just enough for Jesse to realize what this place is: a makeshift shooting range. A poster of Barack Obama on the far end serves as a target, already riddled with bullet holes.

Jesse lets out a short, bitter laugh. "You gonna practice on me?"

"I figure you're the one that could use the practice," Jack says as he pushes a pistol into Jesse's hand.

Jesse's so surprised that he nearly drops the thing, and Jack erupts into laughter as he fumbles to grip it correctly. "What—What the hell?" Jesse snaps, too perturbed to even glare. Instead, his eyes are wide with suspicion.

"You gotta get back in shape sometime," Jack tells him with a shrug. "Never know when more of those biker homos'll show up."

Jesse remains skeptical. This doesn't make sense. "You seriously want me to shoot this thing?"

"Why else would I hand it to you, dumbass?"

"Well it ain't like you're gonna actually gimme a gun," Jesse says, "so what's the point?"

"The point is," Jack answers as he leans in, "if I need you to shoot, you're ready to do it."

Jesse narrows his eyes. "You so sure I won't shoot _you_ instead?"

Jack puts his hands on Jesse's shoulders and turns him to face the target, smirking with total confidence. "You're never gonna kill me. Now let's see your form." He nudges Jesse into position with his elbow, straightening Jesse's posture and kicking his legs apart to adjust his stance.

Jesse goes silent and fixes his body the way Mike taught him, then raises his gun to point it at the poster.

Jack reaches up to correct the angle of Jesse's wrist a little. "Not bad," he comments. "You hold that like a cop. That fed train you while you were camped out at his place, making home movies?"

"No," Jesse answers shortly. "Somebody else."

"Well," Jack says as he pulls out his own pistol and presses the barrel into the small of Jesse's back, "let's see how good that somebody taught you."


	134. Day 134

"You two fucking?" Jack asks as they walk across the yard to the range for another shooting session. "Every time I go in there, you're cuddling like a couple of queers."

"Would you kill me if I said yes?" Jesse asks, trying not to sound too hopeful.

Jack catches it anyway. "Nice try," he says, "but I don't give that much of a shit."

"We ain't fucking. I don't think he knows how."

Jack swivels around, jabbing a finger in Jesse's face. "Hey, watch it. That's my nephew you're talking about."

Jesse gives him a dark smirk. "You gotta know by now. Sex ain't what gets him off. Not with me and not with anybody. Not even with her." And something becomes clear to him as he says that, watching the subtle shifts in Jack's expression. "You're worried about that, aren't you."

"Don't make a lick of difference to me," Jack replies, eyebrows raised in showy nonchalance. "If he fucks you. If he kills her. If it's the other way around. Long as he's happy."

"Awful tolerant for a Nazi."

Jack shrugs. "I'm a complicated fella."

And a worried one, despite his claims to the contrary. If Jack didn't care how Todd turned out, he wouldn't have rescued the kid from the neglect of his smackhead mom. But Jesse chooses his words carefully, "I'll keep him happy."

"Good," Jack says, turning to resume walking.

Jesse walks at his side, his eyes now trained on Jack's scowling profile. "You don't really know what to do with him, huh. He's a different kind from what you're used to."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jack says, looking at Jesse like he's an idiot.

"More Gacy than gangster."

Jack's lip twitches. "What's it to you?"

"You mean aside from how he's probably gonna carve me up and wear my skin someday?" Jesse retorts snidely. "It matters to me as much as it matters to you. His kind, you can't just keep in line. You can teach him all the rules and he'll follow 'em best he can, but you seen what happens when it slips. He's a different kinda junkie."

"Good thing he's got you, then," Jack replies. "For when he needs a fix."

Jesse's glad for the confirmation. But that brings him back to the question rolling around in his mind since yesterday: "Why're you letting me practice shooting?"

"I already told you."

"For real, though," Jesse asks, and both he and Jack come to a halt. "When it comes down to it, am I supposed to protect him… or you?"

Jack snatches Jesse by the throat and drags him closer, looking him straight in the eye. "Don't you dare twist it up like that, you little shit," he hisses. "I made you one of us. _Us_. That means _all_ of us. But maybe that's a little hard for a rat to understand."

Jesse trembles under Jack's grip, but he doesn't tear his gaze away. "I understand," he answers, his voice tight with lack of breath.

"Good," Jack spits, and he shoves Jesse away so hard that the boy goes tumbling into the dirt. "Quit running your mouth. We got shit to do."


	135. Day 135

Todd's taken to staring at him. More than usual, anyway, since the shooting sessions with Uncle Jack began. Jesse can feel Todd's eyes on him whenever his back is turned, though he averts them as soon as Jesse glances over. Jesse doesn't say anything about it. In fact, he does his best to pretend like he doesn't notice. He can't guess from Todd's expression whether the guy's pissed off or worried. Maybe he's nothing at all. Maybe it's just Jesse's paranoia acting up.

Whatever's going on, it's deeply unnerving.

"You wanna play something new for me once we're done here?" Jesse asks, pulling off his ventilator as this stage of their cook comes to an end. "You mentioned Blondie the other day."

Todd grimaces as he tugs his mask off, too, and carefully places it aside. "I was thinking about calling Lydia."

"Yeah?" Jesse puts a smile on his face. "Hey, that's great. You can run ahead of me. I'll take care of everything here."

"You sure you're gonna be okay, Jess?"

Without pause, Jesse answers, "Yeah, I'm all good here." His face hurts with the strain of forced cheer.

Todd looks Jesse up and down like he's searching for signs of something, but Jesse has no idea what that something might be, and he goes on smiling until Todd turns away to remove his Tyvek suit.

As Jesse moves to do the same, his eyes drift to the chain hanging from the dog run.


	136. Day 136

Jesse pops the collar of his flannel shirt as he pulls it on, tugging it high over the back of his neck. As far as he can tell, the noose didn't stay tied long enough to leave a bruise, but he can still feel it there. Damn, but he was close. He was so close. And he can feel Todd's eyes on him again, searching out his secrets, looking for any signs of _whatever_.

"How'd it go with Lydia?" he asks to break the tension. His voice is hoarse.

"It was good," Todd replies. The lack of cheer tells Jesse he's distracted.

"When's her flight?" He asks that like he's politely interested, but what he'd really like is to make sure he's dead before then.

"Few days," Todd responds vaguely.

Jesse can't press further without sounding weird about it, so he turns to give Todd a little smile. "It'll be nice seeing her. Been a long time."

"Are you feeling okay?" Todd asks, ignoring the pleasant smalltalk.

"Yep, I'm great."

He's unconvinced. "You getting a cold or something? I could have Uncle Jack check you out."

"Nah," Jesse answers with a quick shake of his head. "Just, you know, a few too many cigarettes. Now that I can have 'em again. Guess I overdid it is all."

"You should take it a little easy today," Todd says.

"Gotta finish the cook though," Jesse insists. "It'll go bad if we leave it sitting much longer."

Todd looks him over once more. The truth should be so easy to spot, shouldn't it? Jesse thinks that if their places were miraculously reversed, he'd know in an instant. But it keeps eluding Todd: the simple human truth that anyone in this place, made to do all these things, would be eager to die. In this moment, with Todd staring so intensely into his eyes, Jesse can't believe he's still missing it.

"Well, I'm gonna get you some coffee first," Todd says finally. "Something warm always helps."


	137. Day 137

When Jesse kneels down, the chain goes tight around his neck. Tighter instead of loosening. He chokes back a soft laugh, his eyes glistening with tears. He finally figured this stupid thing out. Just a few more minutes left in this horrible world, then it's all over.

He doesn't want to delay, but he takes one last look around at the lab. His prison. He wishes he could be looking at anything else. He'd rather see the desert, the sky, the stars. But beggars can't be choosers. The opportunity is here and the window is brief. Even if he wanted to dwell on this decision, he doesn't have the luxury.

Jesse sinks down a bit further, allowing his body to relax. Every inch applies more pressure to his throat. It isn't like a gunshot. It isn't going to be an easy death, a soft death like Mr. White apparently had in mind for him, once. He had a taste of the pain in his earlier attempts and he imagines this is only going to be worse.

Well... he doesn't have to imagine. He starts to feel it almost immediately. As soon as he can't draw breath anymore, his head swims. A tingling spreads through his arms and legs and it quickly becomes a burning sensation, aching in his muscles and joints. The body screams for air and spasms reflexively. It takes all of his willpower to keep himself on his knees, to resist giving some slack to his noose.

He squeezes his eyes shut and finds the stars he was looking for.

He'd say a prayer but he can't remember any.

And out of the shimmering light that blooms from the darkness behind his eyelids, a new vision forms. Andrea kneels in front of him, cupping his face with both hands. She looks like an angel, and he's pretty sure that she is. An angel come to greet him.

Only—she doesn't look happy to see him. Her mouth forms words that sound muffled at first, but he makes them out after a few repetitions: "Get up. Baby, get up."

He gives her a slight shake of his head. His cheeks are soaked with tears now. When he tries to respond out loud, he finds his tongue thick and numb in his mouth.

"Baby, get up," she goes on pleading, shaking him and trying to pull him to his feet by herself. But he's heavy, and anyway, she's only made of light. Light can't touch him. Not for real.

It's the shadow that drags him up, yanking him violently by the shoulders.


	138. Day 138

When Jesse comes to, he finds himself not on the floor of the lab but in a soft bed—a bed larger than the one he's used to, though he's overcome with a creeping sense of déjà vu.

On cue, Uncle Jack speaks up behind him, "Stubborn little shit, aintcha."

Jesse groans in response, scrubbing his hand over his face. His head feels full of blood, throbbing with pain, and his throat feels equally swollen and sore. "What happened?"

Jack chuckles. "Like you don't remember."

"Where's Todd?"

"Sleeping." Jack steps around the side of the bed, a shadow in the dark until the lamplight shining in through the blinds catches his features and illuminates him in fluorescent streaks. "I told 'im you had a fever. Passed out in the lab. Said I didn't want him catching whatever you got." 

"You lied to him?" Jesse croaks, incredulous. " _Why?_ "

"Aw, gee, I dunno. What was I supposed to tell him? His bestest buddy in the whole world just tried to hang himself 'cause he'd rather sleep in the dirt than spend another day with him?" Jack sighs, settling onto the edge of the bed. "We've all been working hard here to make you right, but nobody works harder than that kid."

Jesse pushes himself up onto his elbows, glaring at Jack. "Don't pretend you give a shit about me."

"I don't. I give a shit about _him_."

"Bullshit. A few months ago you almost killed me while his back was turned."

"You talked me outta it, remember?" Jack rubs at his eyes. He's been keeping vigil all night, clearly. "And you were right. Something's changed in him. Damned if I'm gonna watch him snap back now."

Jesse slumps down a couple inches, momentarily subdued. He's not sure what to say to that. It isn't exactly in his favor to argue against his worth now that they're in this position.

"Anyway, you weren't serious," Jack goes on with a shrug. "Else you woulda used the gun when you had it. You wanted somebody to stop you."

"You're wrong."

Jack rolls his eyes. "Oh shut up. I saw you crying, you little pussy. You didn't wanna die there, not like that. You got too much hate in your heart to go out on your knees like that, whimpering and pissing your pants. I seen it in you. I know there's a man in there somewhere."

Jesse clenches his jaw but holds his tongue.

"Anyway, if you try it again, I'm killing your whole family. You can count on that, even if you ain't around to see it."

Jesse has no doubt about it. He swallows, his throat aching like it's lined in razorblades. "So what now?" he asks.

Jack reaches over to pat him on the knee. "You're gonna rest here 'til you get over your 'cold'," he says. "Then you're gonna meet with the Quayle woman, tell her how much fun you're having now that we made you so comfortable here, and then you're gonna do whatever my nephew wants you to do 'til one of _us_ decides we're done with you. Think you can handle that job, partner?"

Jesse twitches at the word before giving a slow nod.


	139. Day 139

"Still breathing?" Jack asks as he walks in with a bag of McDonald's.

Jesse glares at him from across the room. He's sitting in bed, cross-legged, with his back to the headboard. He's been in the same spot for most of the day, leaving the rest of the room untouched. He can never tell what will set Jack off, so he doesn't want to push it.

Jack takes his time walking across the room, letting the aroma of the food permeate the air. Jesse hasn't eaten all day and Jack knows it. When he takes a seat on the bed beside him, he's clearly expecting Jesse to jump for the food.

Jesse doesn't.

Unfazed, Jack pulls a Big Mac container from the bag and opens it up. "How you feeling, buddy?" He lifts the burger to his mouth to take a large bite.

"Fine," Jesse answers flatly, his voice still full of gravel.

"Yeah?" Jack takes another bite, chewing loudly.

Jesse watches him, mouth watering and stomach growling, but he resists the urge to reach out and snatch the food from Jack's hands.

Regardless, the look on his face is easy to read as ever. Jack quirks an eyebrow, glances at his Big Mac, then glances back to Jesse. "Oh, what? You want some of this?"

Jesse exhales an irritated sigh through his nostrils. "Does it matter what I want? You're gonna say no, anyway."

Jack raises both eyebrows now. "How do you know that?"

"What?"

"How do you know that if you ain't even asked yet?"

Jesse begrudgingly sits forward, holding out his hand. "Can I get some of that?"

"Sure," Jack replies, handing him the entire bag and keeping only the Big Mac for himself.

Suspicious of his generosity, Jesse half-expects to open the bag and find roadkill inside. Instead, there's another Big Mac and fries. Everything's gone a bit cold—the nearest McDonald's is at least twenty minutes away—but it might as well be gourmet as far as Jesse's concerned. He dives in immediately, stuffing a whole handful of fries into his mouth and ignoring the pain in his throat when he swallows them.

"Don't choke," Jack cautions, grinning.

Jesse gets through most of the burger and half the fries before he stops for air. He's probably going to get sick from eating so fast, but it's hard to care about that. He wipes at his mouth with his palm and looks over at Jack, who's been watching him the whole time. "What kinda game is this?" he asks.

"Ain't no game, son."

"You used to feed me dog food," Jesse pulls another couple of fries out of the bag.

Jack shrugs. "You used to be a dog."

"How come you made me ask for it instead of just giving it to me?"

That makes Jack laugh. "How come you don't ask for things when you want 'em? Better yet—How come you didn't take it yourself?"

"You woulda hit me," Jesse growls bitterly.

"So what?" Jack holds up what's left of his burger. "You don't think a good meal's worth a fight, if it comes down to it? Ask me, this is worth a punch in the face. Animals out in the wild gotta fight for their supper every day."

"So you want me to hit you next time you bring food in here?"

"Well," Jack says, gesturing to the bag in Jesse's lap, "just _asking_ worked out pretty good for you, don't you think? Maybe all you need is to take some initiative sometimes, 'stead of giving up when the going gets tough."


	140. Day 140

When Jesse steps out of Jack's ensuite bathroom, he finds Todd waiting for him. He jumps in surprise, uttering, "Whoa, hey," with a voice that's still raspy enough to sound like he's got a cold. "I thought Jack told you to keep your distance. Um, so you don't get infected and all."

"Yeah," Todd says. "He did."

"So, um…" _Why are you here?_ Jesse means to ask, but can't figure out a way to word it inoffensively.

"You doing okay?" Todd looks Jesse up and down, and Jesse realizes he's probably searching for signs of injury. "I've been kinda worried about you."

"No, yeah, I'm great," Jesse lies, wide-eyed as a cornered animal. He's not sure which is the right thing to do here, which master he ought to be serving. It feels strange to be covering Jack covering for him. Is that the whole idea here, testing him to see which way his loyalties lean?

But if he's supposed to be confessing to his suicide attempt right now, he can't bring himself to do it. The way Todd's looking at him, his eyebrows knitted together in concern, seems too convincing. Like he might actually care. "Is your cold getting better?" Todd asks him.

"Yup, yeah," Jesse answers with a nod. "Your uncle's a good doctor, you know."

Todd doesn't buy it. He steps closer and takes Jesse's hand. Jesse, used to Todd manipulating his body by now, remains still as Todd lifts his arm and rolls back his sleeve. He turns Jesse's wrist this way and that, looking for bruises. When he finds none there, he lets go and reaches up to begin unbuttoning Jesse's shirt.

"Todd?" It's half a question, half a protest.

"You don't have to say anything," Todd says as he pulls Jesse's shirt open to examine his chest. "I just wanna see."

"Seriously, nothing happened," Jesse insists, a shiver running through him. "He's taking care of me while I'm sick is all."

Todd, not finding the evidence he's looking for, nods silently. His gaze lingers on Jesse a moment longer, as if he thinks he might be missing some sign of abuse right under his nose. But all the scars and marks on Jesse's body are old, and the redness that encircled his neck two days ago has faded away to nothing.

Nevertheless, that stare is so intense that Jesse feels as if Todd can read his entire confession on his skin.

"You can tell me," Todd murmurs at last, "if he's hurting you."

"He's not," Jesse says quickly. "He's taking care of me."

"Okay." Todd still doesn't look like he wholly believes that, but he looks away from Jesse's bare skin to meet his eyes. "Get better soon, Jess. I miss you."

Jesse nods, and remembers a half-second too late to add, "I miss you, too."

Todd pats his cheek fondly and pulls away, sneaking out the door to leave Jesse before he's caught.


	141. Day 141

"He thinks you're up to something," Jesse tells Jack.

"Now whose fault is that?" Jack mutters as he paces back and forth, irritably smoking a cigarette.

"I mean he thinks you're still torturing me or something." Jesse sinks back a few inches, suddenly afraid he's given Jack an idea. "Maybe, um… Maybe I oughta just tell him the truth."

Jack taps off his ashes onto the floor, unconcerned by the scars they leave on the linoleum. "Kid, do whatever you want. Just don't cry at me when he flips out and locks you in the cage again."

"You think that's what he'll do?"

Jack snickers. "You'll never see the sun again. You know you're worthless to him dead, right? He's gotta keep you in working condition, but he don't gotta keep you _comfortable_. I don't think you really appreciate how much I been doing for you here."

Jesse isn't stupid enough to refute that. He watches Jack with a flat stare.

"Hey, I stuck my neck out for you," Jack points out defensively, sensing Jesse's skepticism anyway. "I know it wasn't pretty, you being such a little bitch about getting your hands dirty, but I made a place for you here with us. You'da been dead or assfucked without me pulling for you."

Jesse bites his lip and looks away. It's hard to be grateful for a life he doesn't want anymore and it's downright insane to be asked to give thanks to his own torturer that he wasn't tortured as much as he _could_ have been. But there's no denying that Jack is making an effort here. He's saved Jesse's life at least as many times as he nearly took it.

"Anyway, you sound okay today," Jack goes on, dismissively waving his hand. "Might as well go back to him if he's getting suspicious. I miss sleeping in my own fucking bed."

"Thank you," Jesse murmurs, unprompted.

Jack pauses to regard him, eyebrows lifted in consideration. Then he gives a shrug. "Just don't do anything stupid again. That kid's lost enough for a lifetime."


	142. Day 142

"You gonna be okay for tomorrow?" Todd asks as they seal up the tank together, snapping down latches in unison.

Jesse gives a quick nod. "Yeah, totally." He tugs the collar of his shirt away from his sweaty skin, trying to get some air. It's hot as Hell in the lab. They should've waited until sunset to get started.

Todd notices his discomfort and scurries over to their little break area to grab Jesse's water bottle.

"Thanks," Jesse murmurs as Todd hands it over. He takes a good gulp of the stuff, then hands it back so Todd can take a drink, too. He waits until Todd's finished to bring up something that's been on his mind for a while now. Something that still doesn't quite make sense. "Hey, um… How come she didn't visit while I was sick? I mean, it ain't like she really needs me around for whatever you guys do."

Todd shrugs. "I know there's a lotta technical stuff she wants to go over," he says, screwing up his face like the idea of sorting through equipment and chemical lists is a bitter lemon he's biting into. "You're kinda the expert on all that, not me."

"She must be getting real sick of rescheduling, though," Jesse laughs, the sound coming out a bit too dark and bitter. He should be dead already, and Lydia should be left with the painful task of trying to deal with _that_.

"Nah." Todd shakes his head. "She's just, um… She's just worried about you. She was glad when I told her you were getting better. So much stuff's been getting in the way, you know? I think she's looking forward to things getting normal again."

"Ain't we all," Jesse remarks wryly. His gaze drifts absently past Todd to the dog run before another thought catches his mind. "She's still happy with the numbers, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Todd says with a vigorous nod. "Happy as ever. Don't you worry, Jess. She ain't coming to get you in trouble."

Jesse gives him a tight smile. He doesn't believe that in the slightest. "You should pick her some flowers," he says, veering the subject off of himself. "I see those pretty orange flowers all over the place around here."

That works. Todd's face lights up and he forgets all else. "Yeah! Hey, come on. It's break time anyway. Let's go find some."


	143. Day 143

The bouquet ends up tossed onto the table between the scale and Lydia's clipboard. She gives Todd a thin smile as she settles onto her stool and smoothes out the creases in her black pencil skirt. "Would you mind making us some tea?"

"You want me to put ice in it?" Todd asks helpfully.

The temperature's in the nineties at least, but Lydia shakes her head. "No, thank you. You know how I like it. And one for Jesse, too. We wouldn't want his sore throat to come back, would we?"

"No, ma'am," Todd answers with a smile, patting Jesse on the shoulder before he hurries off in the direction of the clubhouse.

Lydia doesn't waste another thought on Todd. She immediately turns to Jesse and gestures to the stool beside her. "Please, sit. We've got a lot to go over and I'm short on time."

Jesse sits down and waits while she flips through a few papers on her clipboard. He keeps his eyes averted, afraid that he might do something to invite her ire. After all, she freaked out at him last time just for standing there.

"If you could take a careful look at this supply list and let me know if everything's in order, I'd appreciate it" she says as she turns the clipboard around and hands it over, along with a pen. "Just make a note if anything's missing. Anything at all."

Jesse nods dully and leans back against the table, directing his attention to the clipboard.

...This isn't a supply list.

It's a letter.

>  _Jesse:_
> 
>  _Don't act as if anything is out of the ordinary. There is at least one camera on you and the lab is probably bugged. Please proceed as if you're reading over a supply list._
> 
>  _I have a proposition for you. I realize that we aren't on the most friendly terms and you might find it laughable that I'm asking for your help now, but the benefits to you are numerous._

  
Jesse stops reading and glances up to gauge her expression. She's watching him with wide eyes, silently begging him to keep his mouth shut. Lydia isn't the greatest actress. She never has been. The fear on her face is real, he has no doubt about it, regardless of what Mike would say in this scenario. Jesse looks back to the clipboard.

>  _If you cooperate, I can get you out of this place and out of the country safely. I have people in Europe who are very eager to meet you and would provide you with much more humane accommodations. You would live in wealth and comfort under an assumed identity and be free to walk the streets in a place where you would go unrecognized. 40 lbs/week is all that would be expected of you. The rest of your time would be yours to do with as you please._

  
Jesse blinks hard and glances up at Lydia again. It's hard to imagine that any of this is possible or true. But Lydia bites her lower lip, her eyebrows rising just a touch, imploring him to go on.

>  _I cannot extract you from this place myself. Jack Welker has men in Houston ready to harm me and my daughter if I make a move against him and he has made this painfully clear to me in the past. I no longer wish to work with him or Todd. I believe it would be in your best interest as well as mine if all of these men were to befall a serious accident. Perhaps a lab explosion? I'm afraid I'm no expert in these matters but I assume you've gained some insight during your stay._
> 
>  _We're running out of time. I'm sorry that I couldn't help you sooner but I'm attempting to remedy that now and I hope all my previous transgressions can be forgiven. Please write a date below and I can arrange for someone to escort you away from here after you've eliminated Jack and his crew. Your driver will be unable to move until you've removed all the obstacles, so be thorough. If there are any supplies you require in this task, also include those in the space below._
> 
>  _Say nothing. My daughter's life depends on it._

  
Jesse rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, brushing away the tears that threaten to roll down his cheeks. He wants to look at her again, to find confirmation in her expression just one more time so he can be sure, but he can't risk another moment of weighing this decision when Todd will be back with their tea in less than a minute.

Quickly, he writes his response:

>  _2 weeks from now exactly_  
>  _2 p.m._  
>  _platinum dioxide and diethyl ether_  
>  _deliver in 13 days NOT BEFORE THAT_  
>  _make delivery yourself_  
>  _need you to distract them that night so I can set up_

  
The rest of what he needs is in the storehouse right next door. Breaking into that will be less risky than sending Lydia to find it all and then somehow smuggle it past the gang. Jesse turns the clipboard back over to her, murmuring, "That oughta be good."

Lydia glances over the sheet before flipping the rest of the papers down over it. "Excellent," she says, trying and failing to sound at ease. Jesse looks down at her hands and isn't surprised to find them shaking.


	144. Day 144

"You look happy," Todd notes, looking a touch proud, as if this is his accomplishment somehow.

Jesse ignores that presumption, answering breezily, "I am."

The clubhouse is empty today, leaving them to eat their lunch at the kitchen table in peace, with the air conditioner on full blast and the radio cooing some George Michael song across staticy airwaves. It's one of those days that gives Jesse the opportunity to pretend that all is well, that he's a free man in an ordinary place where no one ends up tortured or dead.

All of that, however, isn't normally enough to bring a genuine smile to his face. What's lifting his spirits today is the promise that soon, very soon—thirteen days from now, he's counting—he'll be on his way to actual freedom.

"I'm really glad, Jess," Todd says as he reaches across the table to pet Jesse's hair. Whether he's a chained slave or a recruited member of the gang, Jesse remains Todd's dog. Jesse still can't figure out if Todd's intentionally humiliating him or not, but it's mattering less and less to him now.

"It's nice, you know?" Jesse says, his smile edging on manic. "Feels like I'm finally settling in here. Everything's all square with your uncle and Lydia, and I'm part of the team, and—I mean, I've got _you_. So I've got everything I need. It's like you said."

Todd's face crinkles up. He has no idea what Jesse's referring to. "...Which part?"

Jesse puts his fork down and leans forward, his eyes shining with renewed vitality. "I finally know who I'm supposed to be."


	145. Day 145

Jack ejects the empty magazine and reaches over to grab a handful of bullets from the ammo box. "You sure you ain't fuckin' her?"

"It's kinda weird how obsessed you are when it comes to who I'm fucking," Jesse says, folding his arms.

Jack makes a face that's disarming in its childishness. "Don't get faggy about it. I make it my business when it comes to my nephew's heart gettin' toyed with. That's all."

"I never fucked her."

"I couldn't blame you if you did. I mean, those _legs_." Jack whistles. "Goddamn. Too bad about the rest of her. Personality-wise, you know what I'm saying? You'd have to gag her. I don't just mean during the sex. I mean anytime she's in the room. Bossy cunts. Who the hell wants that, huh? I don't get that kid."

Jesse remains neutrally silent, watching Jack load the bullets one by one into the magazine.

"Anyway," Jack continues, glancing up at Jesse, "you oughta be careful with that bitch. She was eyeing you with a mighty hunger while you were busy there in the lab. You don't want Toddy catching that."

"Ain't like I'll see her again," Jesse answers with a shrug.

"She was itchin' to see you this time. Can't imagine that'll be the end of that."

Jesse sighs and knuckles his forehead in irritation. "Just send me away next time, if you're so worried about it. I dunno, give me something else to do. I'm yours, not hers. Fuck her. She's only trying to ride my dick 'cause of the meth, anyway. But I'm just a goddamn cook. It ain't like she really needs me around for the rest of that shit."

Jack nods as he slides the magazine back into place. "That's a solid plan. I don't like her coming around here, making demands to see you, like Toddy ain't good enough to handle the business."

"I hate that bitch," Jesse mutters.

Jack smiles as if he considers the matter settled. He turns the gun over to Jesse, moving along to their main task. "Remember to point this at the target, not your brains. Can I trust you not to be an idiot again?"

Jesse rolls his eyes. "I'm not gonna kill myself. I remember what you said."

Jack steps behind him to clear the way and gives him a pat on the back in approval.


	146. Day 146

"You ever think about getting a telescope?"

Todd turns his eyes skyward, scrunching up his face. "Just to look at the stars?"

"Yeah." Jesse looks up, too, and folds his arms across his chest to ward off the night chill. "You get some of the best views out here, way out from the city. When me and Mr. White used to go out to cook in the desert, nighttime was my favorite. Sometimes I'd go out and just lie there on top of the RV and look at 'em. There's so much, you know? You don't even notice 'til you're really looking."

"Yeah," Todd whispers.

Jesse reaches over Todd's shoulder and leans in, pointing to a particularly bright star. "You know what that one is?"

"Mars?"

"Nah, man. Mars is the kinda reddish one. This one's the North Star."

"Oh." Todd looks sheepish.

"Remember that one," Jesse says, glancing aside at him. "You ever get lost way the fuck in the middle of nowhere, that one's like a compass."

Todd smiles. "You're really smart, Jess."

Not really. It was Jake who taught him that, Jake with his telescope set up in his bedroom window. Jesse takes Todd by the shoulders and turns him slightly, pointing to another cluster of stars. "You gotta know those over there, right?"

While Todd is straining his brains to figure it out, Jesse subtly sweeps his eyes over the surrounding area. He only spots one camera trained on the door to the storehouse from this side, but that's still one camera too many. He's not sure how to deal with that yet.

"Wait—that's the Big Dipper, right?"

Jesse looks at Todd again, beaming. "Yeah! The Romans called it Ursa Major. That means Big Bear. You know, 'cause it kinda looks like a big-ass bear all throwing its paws up."

"Maybe I _should_ get a telescope," Todd says. "We could look at this stuff every night 'til I learn 'em all."

"Totally," Jesse agrees, his eyes drifting to the dead tree next to the camera. If he can climb it, then he can just turn the camera out of the way, point it in a different direction. No one would notice until it's too late, he bets.

"What's that one?" Todd interrupts, gesturing toward Scorpius.


	147. Day 147

"How come you never let Todd come along?" Jesse asks as he trails after Jack, the two of them making their way down the dark corridor of their makeshift gun range.

Jack turns around to give him a wry look. "Oh, yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you. Both of us in one place and you with a gun in your hand."

"Do I look that stupid?"

"Yeah, you do."

Jesse presses his mouth into a line and comes to a stop. "What do I get if I ice the two of you? There'd still be all the rest of 'em out there, standing between me and that fence. They'd put a bullet in my head before I could get halfway there."

"You're right," Jack says, tipping his head in acknowledgment. "But you're also suicidal. So there's that."

Jesse sighs. "I don't wanna hurt Todd. Never. Okay? He's just a kid. A _fucked-up_ kid, but… He's different from you. Like in all the good ways."

"Why, thank you."

"You're welcome," Jesse answers with a twist of his lips. "You know what I'm saying, right? His heart's in the right place."

Jack folds his arms, regarding Jesse with greater interest. "That makes me wonder where you think _my_ heart's at."

"I think we established you don't got one," Jesse replies frankly, "when you made me pick off pieces of that Vagos kid 'til there was hardly nothing left to melt down."

"Sometimes I swear your brain's made of sawdust," Jack says with a short laugh. "It was him or you. My boys were never gonna stop if you didn't show 'em what you could do. I did you a kindness, turning him over to you. Ain't it better for you now? Huh? Ain't it?"

Jesse raises his chin a little. In some ways, yes. It's better. But he'd also trade his life to undo it. As with so many of his mistakes. It's nothing that someone like Jack will ever understand.

Yet Jack nods at him, reading his eyes. "Come a day you'll recognize all the kindness I done you. Everybody else looks at you and they see a little boy. Old Heisenberg, right? He liked you that way. Soft and easy. I read the papers, too, you know. I know he was your teacher back in high school. I bet he never stopped thinking of you like that dumb little shit in his class. But me? I hate that. It's pathetic. You gotta help a boy grow into a man, not keep him stunted."

"It's Todd you're really helping, though. Right? You keep saying that."

Jack reaches out and smacks Jesse upside the head. "Don't make me spell it out, dumbass."

Jesse gives Jack a puzzled look as he rubs gingerly at his scalp. It wasn't a real hit, but he didn't expect it.

"I wouldn't do everything I done for you if there wasn't something worthwhile in there," Jack says, the words coming out like they taste foul in his mouth. "You're smarter than all these knuckleheads put together. And you're a tough son of a bitch, too. Nobody was ever harder to crack than you were, and I had a lotta men bleeding on my floor before you came along."

Jesse gives a slight shake of his head. He's having trouble believing this. It sounds too much like a compliment.

Jack smacks him again, more gently this time. "Don't make me regret putting my faith in you, boy. I know you got the potential to be more than just my nephew's bitch. Come on, now." He jerks his chin down the corridor and resumes walking.


	148. Day 148

Jesse steps on his shoelace on the way out, purposely unraveling the knot. It gives him a good excuse, once he's outside the lab, to duck down and crouch beside the wall with his back to the tower and to the cameras.

He works quickly, shaking the bullets out of his sleeve and into the shallow crevice where the hardened dirt of the desert doesn't quite line up with the tin siding. He's managed to pocket six of them so far, but he's hoping for a chance to sneak a few more out from under Jack's nose during their next session. It's risky, but he'll be in even more trouble if not enough of them go off when the time comes. It's going to take a lot of clamor to get the entire gang in the right spot and Jesse can't have only one or two shots going off.

With the ammo safely squirreled away, Jesse ties his shoe and rises. He sweeps the area, but it's another hot day and no one's out if they don't have to be. Even the tower doesn't seem to be manned. He guesses it's more comfortable for everyone to sit inside with the A/C and just keep an eye on the surveillance feed.

He lights his cigarette—the whole excuse for this break in the first place—and takes leisurely steps around the side of the building. It's not hard to find places that'll work for positioning bombs close to both lab exits. This place is so littered with abandoned metal artifacts, it's practically a junkyard. And running a fuse along the wall means that it'll be nearly invisible. He can get everything set up the night before and he's confident it'll remain unnoticed the next morning.

Once the bombs go off, the exits will be sealed. And the sparks and shrapnel will set off the chain reaction that'll take care of everything inside.

"How's that for genius?" Jesse mutters around his cigarette.

Mr. White scoffs, "I'll save my amazement for when you manage to work out how to build a bomb out of nothing."


	149. Day 149

"You sure it's no trouble?" Jesse asks, slowing his steps in reluctance as they approach the ladder. "I don't want Uncle Jack to get pissed at you."

Todd glances back to Jesse with a lopsided grin. "Aw, he won't care. I used to climb up here all the time, even when I was a little kid."

"Yeah, but… I mean, what about me?"

With a shake of his head, Todd reaches out to grab Jesse by the hand. "You're our brother now, not our prisoner. Soon you'll probably be doing guard duty and everything. He's not gonna get mad about you scoping the place out."

Jesse smiles. Todd is so hopelessly stupid. Or stupidly hopeful. Either way, he's blind to their reality.

"Come on, you go first." Todd gives Jesse a light tug towards the ladder and places his hand on one of the rungs. "It's great up there. You'll see."

And it is. As Jesse climbs up onto the platform of the watchtower, all of Albuquerque sprawls out before him. His mouth drops open at the sight of it, and he's surprised by how close it looks. The months of isolation behind that fence have made the whole compound seem like a world all its own, and from the ground, the desert around them looks endless. But there it is: the city where he spent his whole life. His parents and his brother and Brock are right over there. It's like he's staring at his old life and it's all within his reach.

Todd steps up behind him and puts a hand on his shoulder. "You like it?"

The touch pulls Jesse straight out of his reverie and reminds him why he's really here. As he puts an arm around Todd, he's tempted to hurl the guy right over the edge. But the urge only lasts for a split second. He knows what's at stake. He can't fuck this up.

Jesse turns to look down over the compound itself. He has to memorize everything he sees. Knowing where to run is going to be crucial if the gang ends up scattered or something else goes awry with the plan. "You can really see everything up here," he murmurs.


	150. Day 150

Jesse walks into the kitchen to find Kenny sitting at the breakfast bar, alone, mulling over a cup of coffee. He considers turning around to go back to the bedroom and wait until Todd wakes up, but Kenny spots him first, and Jesse can't just slink off like a kicked puppy anymore. If he gives way to any of them, they'll carve away at what little freedom he has, and he can't have that happen now.

So he nods in greeting and continues over to the refrigerator. He can't help but brace himself while his back is turned, remembering all the times they've snuck up on him here and beaten him down even when he technically had permission to eat. He expects Kenny to get up and slam his face into the door.

But Kenny remains seated, and Jesse retrieves the milk carton unscathed. He turns to the cabinets to seek out a bowl and cereal, feeling Kenny's eyes on him the whole time. Jesse starts eating his breakfast right there on the counter without turning around, figuring he has no reason to talk if Kenny doesn't talk to him. It's not as if they're friends.

He's about halfway through his bowl of cereal when Kenny finally speaks up, asking, "You want some coffee?"

Jesse turns around, his eyes wide with surprise. "Um," he starts dumbly. "I'm okay. Thanks."

"You sure?" Kenny gets up off his stool, walking around to rinse out his empty mug at the sink. "I gotta make a fresh pot anyway. You might as well get some while the getting's good."

Jesse can't quite look at Kenny's face, watching his hands instead, anticipating a sudden violent outburst. Maybe he'll hit Jesse with the mug. Maybe he'll break it and use a shard as a shank. "I don't drink a whole lotta coffee anymore."

"Yeah?" Kenny turns away from him, getting to work with the coffee maker. "You'd think a speed freak would be all about caffeine."

"Bothers my stomach," Jesse murmurs. Well, the stress does, mainly. But coffee makes it worse. Kenny doesn't need the details about Jesse's frequent urge to vomit, though.

"You know, we got Tums in the medicine cabinet," Kenny says as he scoops grinds into the machine.

"Oh." Jesse doesn't spend more time in the bathroom than he has to. He's never checked.

Kenny glances back at him. "You with Jack again today?"

Jesse shakes his head. "Gotta cook."

"He's probably disappointed about that," Kenny chuckles as he turns back to the coffee maker.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jesse asks, immediately on the defensive.

"Nothing." As the coffee sets to brewing, Kenny steps back and flashes a smile at Jesse. "But if you want my advice, I wouldn't get too comfortable. In case you didn't notice, this gang's already got a second-in-command."

Jesse's brow draws together. It's hard to believe that Kenny actually feels threatened by him. What exactly has Jack been saying that would make Kenny think Jesse's anywhere near climbing the ranks to second? He's hardly a member. He's not even really a member at all. It's just a ploy to keep him safe, is what Jack said. Kenny has to know that, right?

"You're his man," Jesse confirms. "I got that."

Kenny considers him for a moment, searching his face for signs of deception before he utters, "Good." He points to his eyes, then points to Jesse, letting out an erratic snicker as he walks out of the room.


	151. Day 151

"Don't do it, kid."

Jesse turns his head to look at Mike, half-obscured by shadows and watching him with intense disapproval. Jack stands between them, rattling off the stats of the particular gun he's holding and why it's better for such-and-such situation. Jesse isn't listening, though he's gotten pretty good at pretending that he is.

"What'd I always tell you about that woman?" Mike goes on, taking a step forward. "You're betting everything on her when you already know she's not reliable. What happened the last time you thought she'd swoop in and rescue you, huh? Think about how it'll go if it happens again."

"I gotta do it," Jesse whispers to Mike. "I'm almost there. I can't give up now."

Mike shakes his head. "Nobody's telling you to give up. But I'm telling you, this ain't the way. You got maybe a ten percent chance of getting 'em all where you need 'em for this whole blowing-up-the-lab thing. It's too complicated." He sighs and jerks his head toward Jack. "This idiot's about to put a gun in your hand. Use it. Put a bullet between his eyes and make a break for it. You know they've all got their guard down nowadays. It'll be, what, a half hour before anybody even notices you ain't where you're supposed to be?"

Jack snaps his fingers in front of Jesse's face. "Hey. You awake in there?"

Jesse looks up sharply. "Sorry. I thought I heard something."

Jack turns around, squinting down the corridor. Jesse pockets a couple of bullets before he turns back. "Nobody's there, you idiot," Jack sighs. "Pay attention to what I'm telling you or you're gonna have a hell of a time controlling this thing. It ain't the same as that baby pistol you been practicing with. Might be you're too skinny to even handle it."

"I'm tougher than I look," Jesse says.

"Ain't that the damn truth," Jack snorts, pressing the gun into Jesse's palm. "Here. Show me how you're gonna hold this thing so you don't go flying back five feet."

Jesse spreads his legs as he raises the gun, pointing it ahead at the target. Jack reaches around him from behind to correct both of his arms while Jesse glances back to Mike.

Mike doesn't say anything more, but the judgment is plain in his eyes. Jesse knows what he should do here. Why he isn't doing it is a mystery to the both of them.

Pushing back his doubts, Jesse fixes his grip and looks over his shoulder to ask, "Is this right, Uncle Jack?"


	152. Day 152

The living room is especially loud tonight, heavy metal blaring from the speakers and all the guys cheering and laughing. Jesse and Todd exchange a puzzled look as they walk into the kitchen. They've been in the lab for hours. Whatever's going on, nobody told Todd about it, either. "Did somebody just get outta prison or something?" Todd asks Kenny, who's standing closest to the bar.

"Somebody just got _in_ prison," Kenny replies with a wisecracker's grin.

Jack punches him in the arm as he walks up with a beer in hand. "What he means is, Frankie up and got hitched to his old lady. Vegas-style."

"He means shotgun," Kenny clarifies.

Todd smiles brightly. "Yeah? They're having a baby?"

"Bitch is already five months along," Jack says as he rests up against the counter. "Can you believe it? She didn't even know it 'til last week."

"How do you not notice something like that?" Todd asks.

"It's like the size of a football by then, ain't it?" Kenny laughs. "How was she not, like, 'Damn, I'm getting one hell of a beer gut'?"

"Well…" Jack leans in closer to the three of them, lowering his voice, "Not to disrespect the bride or nothing, but it's just one more fat roll on top of a pile of fat rolls. Bitch looks like Jabba the Hutt. She probably coulda carried to full term and nobody woulda noticed 'til she was shitting it out."

Jesse looks past Jack and Kenny, finding Frankie among the crowd. Frankie—who tortured him countless times and tried to drown him in a bathtub—is going to be a husband and a father, and he's laughing and celebrating with all of his friend, not a care in the world. Frankie, that piece of shit, is going to have everything Jesse ever dreamed of having, while Jesse is meant to rot here as a slave until one of them gets around to actually killing him.

He clenches his jaw and looks away just as Jack walks up beside him. "Have a beer," he says, handing over his half-finished bottle. Jesse takes it without argument, thinking that Jack's just getting rid of it, but then he nods at the door. "And come keep me company while I have a smoke."

They leave Todd and Kenny and the noise of the party behind to walk out into the night air. Jesse sips quietly at his beer while Jack lights his cigarette. A moment of silence passes between them before Jack says, "Don't be jealous of him. She's ugly as sin."

"I ain't jealous," Jesse mumbles, looking at the dirt.

"Then don't be whatever you're being right now. I hate that pussy look on your face when you're feeling sorry for yourself."

Jesse turns a glare at him.

"That's better," Jack smiles around his cigarette. "You know you ain't missing out on anything, right? Love and marriage is for suckers. A cinderblock tied to your ankle, you understand me?"

Jesse answers dully, "Yes, sir."

Jack reaches over to slap his cheek affectionately. "You know I did twenty years at PNM? _Twenty._ You been in here for five months, son. Stop acting like your life's already done."

"Ain't it?" Jesse responds in a growl more bitter than he intended.

Jack tips his chin back, exhaling a long stream of smoke towards the sky, and gives an assured shake of his head. "It ain't over 'til it's over."


	153. Day 153

When Jesse glances over, he finds Todd watching him again. He forces a little smile on his face, as if it's nice to be looked at like that and not completely unnerving. He isn't sure what he does to bring on these moments of scrutiny. He doesn't think he's done anything to arouse suspicion in the past few days. And anyway, if he'd really slipped up, then Todd would be beating him, not staring at him.

So what is it?

When break time rolls around, Jesse decides to approach Todd first. He pulls off his ventilator and smiles again, flushed from the heat and hard work. "You wanna get some air?" he asks. "I was thinking we could climb up the tower again, catch a breeze."

Todd squirms out of his gas mask and sets it aside, his face twisted with discomfort. "Yeah, I guess we could."

"Hey, what's the matter?" Jesse squeezes Todd's arm the same way Todd so often does to him. There must be something about that he finds soothing.

Todd looks like he's searching for a moment, grasping at words. They never come easy to him. "You know that feeling you're missing something?" he murmurs finally. "Like, um... Like when somebody's been in your room when you weren't in there, and they moved stuff around or took something away, but you can't remember how it used to look so you can't tell exactly what changed?"

Jesse knows precisely what Todd means. That's what his brain feels like.

Todd shakes his head. "Nevermind. Something just feels weird lately."

"Do you wanna take the rest of the day off?" Jesse offers gently. "I can finish the cook myself. It's okay."

"Nah, that's not really..." Todd abandons that thought and tries again, putting on a fresh smile for Jesse. "I don't really wanna be alone right now."

"Okay." Jesse leans in to give Todd a half-hug and a pat on the back. "It's okay. Whatever makes you feel better."

When Todd puts an arm around Jesse in return, his embrace is so tight that Jesse can hardly breathe.


	154. Day 154

"Why's it always guns?" Jesse asks as they approach the range for another day of training.

Jack glances back to him. "What's that?"

"There's gotta be other stuff, right? Self-defense or something. All you ever have me do is shoot."

Jack comes to a stop and turns around to face him properly, his lips curled in amusement. "You telling me you don't know how to fight _at all?_ "

Jesse shrugs. "I mean, I get in a lotta fights. And I took kung-fu when I was a kid. But I can't fight like _you_ do. The way you always get me down in like two seconds flat. You seen how the guys handle me. I couldn't ever stop 'em."

Jack raises a hand in protest. "You don't gotta worry about 'em anymore."

"Yeah, but I gotta worry about Vagos. I gotta worry about anybody else who might come rolling in here. If I'm looking after Todd, it'd help if I don't go down in one hit."

A smile spreads across Jack's face. "Am I hearing this right? You're _asking_ me to beat the shit outta you?"

"Kinda," Jesse answers. "Maybe not so hard I can't work tomorrow, but…"

"It ain't real training if your ass ain't beat by the end of it."

"Okay, but don't get mad if I beat your ass back."

Jack throws his head back, barking out a laugh. "Good luck!"

"So where do we do it?" Jesse asks, casting a glance around the area. "Not in there, right?" Everything inside the range is dark and solid concrete. Secretly, what he's hoping is that Jack will suggest the storehouse. It's got a lot of open space. And it'll give Jesse an opportunity to prepare for his upcoming attack. Only a few days left and every bit of reconnaissance helps.

A fist collides with the side of Jesse's head, knocking him flat onto the ground. He sputters on a mouthful of dirt as he twists around to look up at Jack, who's grinning widely. "Jesus, kid. You shoulda been able to see that one coming a mile away."

Jesse lets out a ragged laugh and dives forward, hurling all of his weight at Jack.


	155. Day 155

Todd tilts Jesse's head back and presses the cold pack to his lip with a tender touch, careful to keep from causing him more pain. "I shouldn'ta gone out," he murmurs, sounding almost remorseful. "I thought something like this would happen."

"I'm okay," Jesse replies as he reaches up to steady the ice against his mouth. "Really. We were having fun."

Todd gives Jesse a long look. "Jess… I know he's my uncle, but you can be honest with me. Honesty is an important part of friendship." Another bit of information that sounds like it's been rehearsed—written in a self-help book, or maybe a counselor told him that once. Jesse doubts that Todd knows anything about friendship intuitively. "I won't punish you for telling me the truth."

"That _is_ the truth," Jesse insists. He sets the cold pack down. It's a little too late to help the swelling, anyway, and it makes talking difficult. "You could go and ask him. He'll tell you I had a good time."

With a sigh, Todd takes a seat on the bed next to him. "Lydia's gonna be mad. I promised I'd keep 'em off you."

"If she's mad, I'll explain it to her."

Todd shakes his head. "That isn't the point. The point is… I'm supposed to be running this whole thing and I just can't seem to get it right. Every time I turn my head, something goes bad." Jesse opens his mouth to protest, but Todd continues, "—No, I know you don't wanna rat. You don't have to say anything. But I've got eyes, you know? I can see what's going on."

When Jesse shuts his mouth and turns away, Todd reaches out to draw his attention back. "Listen," Todd tells him. "You remember before? When I took you outside? You got what it meant. That still stands, okay? If you're afraid, you can tell me, and I'll get you somewhere safe."

Todd isn't lying. He believes what he's saying. The thing is, Jesse knows that there's nowhere safe when Todd's there. Todd might not be wrathful, like Jack. Or sadistic, like the rest of the guys. But there is something in there, a lurking danger that's twisted all up in the way he loves things. What Jesse and Lydia both have in common is that they stand to be destroyed by whatever that love is. And that's why, despite all the good arguments against it, Jesse trusts that Lydia will come through for him tomorrow.

Of course, that doesn't mean he shouldn't have a backup plan.

"About your uncle…" Jesse says after a moment's silence. "I dunno what, but I think he's planning something. Not just this—" He gestures to the bruises on his face. "—but something else. Something… I dunno. He might be trying to set me up. I think… I think he doesn't like how close you and me got. He might try to turn us against each other."

Todd sits up a bit straighter, like that's exactly the kind of thing he was expecting to hear. "I thought it was in my head," he says.

Jesse wrings his hands, looking down. "I dunno. Maybe it's all in mine. But it's just a feeling I got."

"What should we do, Jess?"

Ain't that the question. "Wait, I guess," he answers. "Whatever happens, you'll probably know it when you see it."


	156. Day 156

With the last supply crate off the truck bed and onto the ground, Jesse brushes his hands down his shirt and looks over to Lydia. She's already watching him, her eyes just a little too wide and her brow tense and drawn. No doubt she's concerned about the bruises on Jesse's face. Neither of them can say a word to the other without arousing suspicion, so that brief exchange is all Jesse has to go on. He has to trust that their arrangement still stands.

"If you don't mind," Lydia says, directing her attention to Todd, "I'd like a cup of tea."

Jack turns to Jesse. "You can handle putting this shit away on your own," he interjects before Lydia or Todd can extend an invite for Jesse to join them. He's still worried about that crush he thinks Lydia has on Jesse, intent on keeping them separated. Over Jack's shoulder, Lydia looks somewhat alarmed. Apparently she hadn't expected Jack to be the one to make that suggestion.

Jesse gives Jack a grateful smile and nods. "Yes, sir."

"Actually, Jack—" Lydia pipes up. Irritation flickers around Jack's face as he turns to look at her, thinking that she might ask for Jesse to join them anyway. But that annoyance fades with her next words: "Could you have everyone else join us inside? There's a… matter… we need to discuss. About Houston. I'd like everyone's input."

"Sure thing," he answers with a shrug, and whistles to round up the rest of the gang.

As the crowd moves for the clubhouse, Todd glances back to Jesse. Jesse gives him a thumbs-up and Todd smiles before jogging a few steps closer to Lydia.

Once everyone disappears inside, Jesse gets to work on carrying the crates into the lab. There are only a few, and he'll worry about unpacking them later. First, he has to deal with the cameras while he's sure that no one's watching the feed. There's no way to tell how long Lydia's powwow will go on, or how long she'll be able to convince Jack that absolutely everyone needs to be in the room. Messing with surveillance has to be the priority.

Jesse stacks the crates beneath the nearest camera and uses them as a step to can reach it. Disabling the camera altogether would be too obvious, so he simply turns it a couple of inches, creating a blind spot near the equipment he'll be sabotaging in the morning. He repeats the process for every camera in the lab, pointing each one just slightly to the left or right. A small change should make a big difference.

That done, he moves the crates to the center of the lab and hurries outside. A quick survey tells him that everything's abandoned, everyone still in the clubhouse as expected. He darts across the yard and ducks between buildings until he reaches the tree by the storehouse. In his hurried scramble, he nearly slips off one of the branches on his way up. He stops and takes a moment to breathe, sucking in the night air and reminding himself that speed means nothing if he isn't careful. That was his mistake the last time he tried to escape.

Once the camera pointed at the storehouse has been redirected, he hops down and makes for the door. He knows from his visits with Jack that there isn't much of a security system set up on the place. Jack's always seemed confident that the fence and the cameras and the guns were enough, and loud alarms tend to attract police—which is definitely not something the gang wants. So it comes down to a simple locked door.

Jesse pulls a paperclip from his pocket gets to work. It's been months, but his hands haven't forgotten. He has the lock picked in under two minutes, and the door swings wide open.

He grabs a discarded garbage bag off the floor and steps over to the shelves, a sinking feeling of hopelessness settling over him as he looks over the towering mess of supplies. It hits him that he has no idea what he's doing. "Something about cold packs, right?" he mumbles, looking to Mr. White for help. But there's no one there, and Jesse himself was never one to study bomb manuals. What does it take to make a huge explosion that'll wipe everyone out for good?

His eyes settle on the bags of fertilizer piled on a lower shelf and he leaps forward. He remembers that's part of it. He's not sure what part, exactly, but he'll figure it out later. He crouches down to tear the bag open from the back side, where it'll go unnoticed, and that's when he spots something else…

Actual pipe bombs. A line of them, tucked behind the bags so that they're just out of sight. They're so obvious that it seems like a trap, but Jesse isn't all too concerned about dying, so he reaches out to pick one up. They're rigged with a timer and everything, he finds as he gingerly examines the one in his hands. Jack's really prepared for total warfare. It isn't a trap; it's set up for easy access in case of emergency.

Jesse finds a couple of blankets and wraps up the bombs before placing them in his bag. He can't waste too much more time in here—it's been at least a half hour already—but he grabs a few more items off the shelves to make his rigging easier. The less he has to improvise with lab supplies, the better.

He covers his tracks and locks the storehouse door behind him as he leaves.

In the cover of dark, he sneaks around the building to find the hiding spots he'd mapped out earlier. With the bombs ready-made, this part is going much faster than he expected. He tucks each bomb away—into shrubs, into piles of garbage, into a drain pipe—until the whole lab is surrounded and ready to blow. Tomorrow, all he'll have to do is run around activating each one while the gang is distracted with his diversion.

On his way back to the lab, Jesse picks up the bullets he'd squirreled away in the dirt. His steps are cautious and silent as he enters, in case they're inside and waiting to jump him, but he finds the lab still empty. They're not onto him.

He hides the bullets in an empty cleaner container and puts them on a shelf in that blind spot he'd arranged, where he'll be able to grab them easily when the time comes. The platinum dioxide ends up in the same place, once he's taken it out of the crate Lydia just delivered. Tomorrow, he'll spread the powder out on the floor and scatter the bullets into the pile. The oxygen in the air will cause a reaction and the chemical will start to burn. It's one of those things that's usually responsible for a meth lab explosion, but it's going to do something else first: it's going to heat up the bullets and send them popping. It'll sound just like gunfire, and the gang will assume it's Vagos again. They'll come running to the lab.

And then it'll be too late for them, because Jesse will be outside with those bombs. One thing or the other is going to ignite. With all the volatile chemicals inside, he's ensuring no one will survive.

Jesse takes a step back, nodding to himself in reassurance. It's all in place. He's got this. The only thing left is the ether. He plucks it out of the crate and picks up Todd's ventilator, twisting off the filters. He soaks them through with the chemical, making sure they're nice and wet. The way they absorb, they should stay damp until morning. With that done, he puts it all back where it should be.

Everything looks totally normal by the time Todd walks in two hours later, asking if he's ready for dinner.


	157. Day 157

It's an early morning for both of them. Since the midday heat is so unbearable, they always try to do as much as they can while it's still cool out—especially the work that requires Tyvek and gas masks. Jesse and Todd arrive together, Jesse quiet while Todd goes on and on about what Lydia had to say yesterday. He talked about her all through breakfast, too, background noise layered beneath the buzzing in Jesse's head. He hardly slept, hardly ate, and he can hardly think.

It doesn't matter. Everything's already set up for him. The only thing left is to execute the plan and watch it all play out.

Todd goes for the same ventilator he always does, tugging it over his head while he keeps chattering, "She said maybe we could have dinner tonight, me and her. Which shirt do you think I oughta wear?"

"Maybe the red one this time," Jesse murmurs distantly as he pulls his own mask on.

Todd pauses, thoughtful. "Yeah… I think I wore blue before."

Jesse turns to cross out of the camera's view, knowing that Todd will keep a few steps behind him.

And Todd does, shadowing Jesse as he moves to grab a bucket of aluminum. "Do you think, um… Would flowers be too much? From the store, I mean. I think she likes roses more than wildflowers."

"Orchid," Jesse says without turning. "More original."

"What's an orchid look like?" Todd asks, his voice dragging a bit so that the last word is slurred.

Jesse smiles to himself. "Like a vagina."

Todd starts to say something else as he swoons and reaches to grab hold of Jesse's shoulder. Jesse glances back to him, their eyes making contact through their foggy visors before Todd drops back and collapses onto the floor. "Jess…" he mumbles while his hand seeks out Jesse's pant leg. He's hopelessly confused. He probably doesn't even understand what's happening.

Jesse doesn't move, watching in stoic silence until Todd passes out completely. When all is still, he finally steps away to grab a jug of ammonia. He circles the room with slow steps that won't look suspicious when he crosses by the surveillance cameras, waiting until he's in a blind spot again before he starts dumping the ammonia out onto the floor. It'll help the lab catch fire once the bombs go off.

He tosses the empty jug aside and goes for his other supplies to begin the next phase: scattering the bullets along in a line across the floor beside Todd. They probably won't hurt him, but there's always a chance. Then Jesse picks up the platinum dioxide and taps it out in piles over each bullet. It'll take a minute or two for the reaction to begin, but he shouldn't hang around too long.

Still, Jesse pauses, looking over his work. Everything's set, he thinks, but he wants to be sure. He looks at each camera, none of them facing him. He looks at both doors; no one's coming.

...He's really going to get away with this.

Jesse chokes out a laugh of disbelief, looking aside as if he expects his partner to be standing next to him, triumphant and ready to celebrate. But the only partner he's got now is lying at his feet, unconscious. And when Jesse realizes that, his shoulders give a light shudder and his smile fades away.

He steadies himself as he turns to walk towards the door, finding that his knees feel like jelly. This is over. He's on his way out of Hell, climbing out after so long, and he's doing it on his own terms. But there's something desperately empty about it, the way the desert can stretch out so far and have absolutely nothing in it. Jesse's heart sinks lower and lower with each step.

When he reaches the doorway, he turns to give the lab a final glance. His eyes settle immediately on Todd's body, sprawled out on the floor as if he's already dead.

Jesse wills himself to take another step. It's only a few yards to the nearest bomb. He should already be activating the countdown.

He swallows, his eyes frozen on Todd. Todd, who saved his life when Walter White wanted to take it. Todd, who grew up in this hell and used to hide in the cage so that bad men wouldn't hurt him anymore. Todd, who honestly believes he has the very best friend in the world, and that friend is about to kill him.

Jesse lets out a pained sob as he tosses his ventilator to the floor and starts running. He's at Todd's side in seconds, cursing and tugging his body away from the mess of self-igniting chemicals and bullets. They're both in the cameras' sight now, Jesse's sneakers sliding on ammonia and Todd's body feeling heavier by the moment.

They're still a few feet from the door when the first bullet goes off with a loud _pop_. The noise startles Jesse so much that he slips and falls back. As he twists around to get a grip on Todd again, the rest of the bullets start going off. In his panic, all he can think to do is throw himself on top of Todd to shield him while he curls up and braces to be hit by flying shrapnel.

The roar of the exploding ammunition and he's own strangled crying cover the sounds of distant yelling getting closer and closer until a set of hands grab hold of him and drag him off of Todd.


	158. Day 158

He jerks awake as the door to the tool shed screeches open. He can't see who's coming for him this time—he's facing the opposite wall—but his body instinctively twists away from the shadow that falls across the floor. Above his head, his fingers curl to grip the chain that suspends his body just enough so that the tips of his toes touch the ground. It's as if he's trying to climb higher, since he can't seem to get lower. High enough to get out of reach.

The door shuts and a single pair of heeled footsteps _click-click-click_ in a half-circle around him until they come to a halt in front of him. Jesse looks down to find Lydia standing there, her dainty hand draped over her eyes to shield them from the sight of him.

He lets out the breath he was holding, a pleading whine escaping around the gag in his mouth.

With her free hand, Lydia lifts a finger to silence him. Her lips purse, and slowly she lets the other hand fall away, bringing herself to truly face him. She seems faintly relieved when she finds that his face hasn't been further damaged. It gives her the courage to step closer, and she leans in to whisper, "Did you confess?"

Jesse gives a quick shake of his head, eyes wide.

"Good." She steps back again and reaches into her purse.

It occurs to Jesse that she might kill him just to silence him, and he flinches instinctively as she pulls something out, expecting her to cut his throat. But it's only her cell phone. There's a photo on the screen when she holds it up to his face: a little girl he doesn't recognize, smiling and holding a stuffed rabbit. He furrows his brow in confusion.

"This is my daughter," Lydia explains, her voice still hushed. "This is Kiira. She's seven years old. I'm the only family she has. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

Jesse looks away, turning his eyes to the ceiling. Yes, he understands. She didn't have to remind him. He had no intention of giving her up to these monsters. But the greater implication is, of course, that Lydia has no control over what happens to him from here. She can't demand his release from this room, let alone from the compound. He blew his only chance.

"I need you to—"

Jesse nods impatiently as he drops his eyes back to her. _Yes, yes._

Lydia nods in return and tucks her phone away. "I have to say I'm disappointed," she says, raising her voice to just above normal level. She's performing for whoever's on the other side of the door, now. "I thought that we'd finally reached a sense of harmony, Jesse. After all, your hosts have been so generous."

Jesse doesn't have to play along, so he remains silent. But he doesn't take his gaze off of her, either. He looks straight into her eyes with a thousand accusations and he hopes the guilt eats her alive. She chose this. She chose them. And now he's paying for it, willingly, because she has a daughter to protect. For that reason alone. He owes nothing to this woman who's responsible for keeping him here, for keeping him just alive enough for slave labor and torture. He hopes the image of his face right now—the one she was trying so hard not to see—haunts her until the day she dies.

She shrinks beneath his stare and turns away, pacing a few steps and wringing her hands. "What happens to you now is for Jack and Todd to decide. Comfort and safety are privileges, Jesse. I imagine you're going to see those privileges revoked. But there's a lesson to be learned here, isn't there?" She takes a breath, a short gasp that sounds as if she's only barely managing to stifle a panic attack.

Then she meets his eyes and finishes, her words weighed with meaning: "Every day is a chance. To prove yourself. To amend your mistakes."

Jesse raises his chin just a fraction, unsure and afraid to allow himself even the smallest hope that she's saying what he thinks she's saying.

As she crosses the room to rush past him, he thinks he hears her whisper, "Keep your head down and stay alive."

The door opens and she's gone.


	159. Day 159

Uncle Jack drags the folding chair from the corner of the shed, feet scraping across the floor until it's just in front of Jesse. He drops onto it backwards, with legs spread and arms draped across the back—ever the cocky teenager at heart. He's chewing on a toothpick, regarding Jesse's shuddering and gasping form with the air of an artist admiring his work.

Behind Jesse, the others look to him for a sign of what to do next. After his moment of rumination, he juts his chin forward. "Scram."

They don't argue. They've been at it for a while. Their hands are slick with blood and filth, which is attracting flies. And it's sweltering in this tiny space, making the stench of Jesse's body unbearable. He isn't even dead, yet the shed stinks of rot. The gang file out in silence and shut the door behind them.

"Still got nothing to say for yourself?" Jack sneers.

Jesse doesn't look at him, eyelids drooping behind a curtain of sweat-soaked hair. His chin trembles as he sucks in another ragged breath.

Jack tosses his head back and lets out a long sigh. "Alright, alright. You know, I can respect that. You did what you thought you hadda do. Went out on a limb, tried to take what you thought was rightful yours. It's what any man would do. And you learned not to be a rat while you're at it. I gotta say, I'm proud of you."

Jesse takes another breath, saliva dripping down his chin.

Jack picks himself up again and steps around the chair, nudging that toothpick around in his mouth with his tongue. Eyes squinted in amusement, he tries to peek at Jesse's face. "Come on, buddy. Didn't you hear me?"

With an abrupt thrash, Jesse tosses his body forward against the restraint of his chains, snapping at Jack's face like an animal.

Jack jumps back with a surprised laugh and catching himself on the chair. "Whoa, boy!"

Jesse glares at him with eyes wide and wild, lips pulled back to bare teeth.

"Now, don't be like that," Jack condescends as he straightens his posture. "Didn't your mama teach you anything? We say 'thank you' when somebody says something nice."

" _Fuck_ you," Jesse snarls.

Jack _tsk_ s and pulls the toothpick out of his mouth. The way he brandishes it, pressing it to Jesse's bare skin and tracing it in a slow line lower and lower until it crosses Jesse's pelvis, turns that splinter of wood instantly into a weapon.

Jesse falls still despite himself and bites his tongue. His jaw locked, he braces for further agony.

But Jack's only threatening him into submission. "That's better," he coos. "I see no reason to get all uncivilized here, do you? I mean, you're a smart fella. You knew the consequences and here they are. But none of this has to get any worse than it is. I ain't even mad."

Jesse hisses in a low and venomous tone, "Then could you get that away from my dick. Please."

Jack beams and pulls the toothpick away, popping it back into his mouth. "Tell me about the Quayle woman."

"What about her."

"Cut the bullshit before I skewer your cock like it's a kebab. You know I ain't an idiot. Weren't no coincidence you pulled this while she's in town. She put you up to it, right?"

Jesse swallows and meets Jack's eyes, giving a slight shake of his head. " _You_ gave me the idea."

Jack scoffs. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. When you said she was into me. I figured if she heard something happened while she was in town, she'd come looking for me."

Jack claps his hands together, snickering. "Like Romeo and Juliet, you two."

Jesse turns his face away as if he's ashamed. "...Anything else?"

"Yeah," Jack replies, sobering somewhat. "Why'd you give up?"

Jesse looks at him again, still shivering with pain and exhaustion. The answer to that question eludes him now. He knows he'd felt a lot of things in the moments his plan was unfolding, but there's nothing to feel now except hatred and humiliation. And even those emotions pale in comparison to his physical suffering. His body is on fire with it, leaving little room for his mind to deal with anything else.

That's the point, of course. That's where honesty comes from.

"It's because—" Jesse's voice cracks. "It's because I couldn't do that to him. All he's ever done is take your orders. Before it was me here, it was him, right? You fucked him up. You twisted his head. Everything he ever did is really on _you_. You're the one that deserves to die for it. Not him."

Jack stares at him for a minute, taking it all in. Then he cracks into a smile which balloons into laughter, so boisterous that he ends up doubling over. " _Me?_ " he snorts, incredulous. "Me? Me, I did that? To him? You think— _ha ha_ —you think that's _my_ doing? Hoo, boy." He chucks his toothpick onto the floor, afraid he might choke on it if the laughs keep coming.

Jesse narrows his eyes. He doesn't get what's so funny about it.

Jack doesn't bother to explain. Instead, he gives Jesse a pat on the cheek. "Listen, hey. I appreciate it, you not killing my nephew. He's been pretty down about this whole thing, so I'll let him know you were worried about him. Might make him go easy on you."

"What?" Jesse asks with a wave of rising dread. Jack pulls away and makes for the door while Jesse twists and writhes against the chains, trying to follow him with his eyes. "...What? Jack? Hey—"


	160. Day 160

When their session comes to an end, Todd reaches up to release Jesse from the meat hook. Without the chains keeping him upright, Jesse immediately collapses. He can't move his arms to catch himself, so he hits the ground hard and splits his chin on the floor.

Todd stands nearby, watching Jesse writhe around like a worm.

It's terrible, the absence of feeling. If it weren't for the fact that he can see them, Jesse would think they'd cut off his arms altogether. Even when he rolls onto his side, he doesn't so much as feel the pressure of his weight on his elbow. His arms are nothing now but pale hunks of meat attached to his torso. And though the ache of his body is nearly unbearable, he prefers the pain to this paralysis.

Helpless, he turns his eyes up to Todd. "Are you gonna kill me?" he asks. If he can't use his arms anymore, what good is he to anyone?

"Of course not," Todd answers, taking a few steps forward. He crouches down and brushes the hair out of Jesse's eyes.

"I can't… feel…"

"It'll come back." Todd sounds certain, as if he's seen it happen. Or felt it himself.

" _Todd_ ," Jesse croaks, fresh tears streaming down his face. "I didn't wanna hurt you."

"That's good, Jess. I didn't wanna hurt you either."

The difference, of course, is that Todd went through with it anyway.

Jesse chokes back a cry and turns away, pressing his cheek closer to the floor as if he means to sink through it. Centimeters. That's as far as he can escape, now. He can turn his head and shut his eyes, and that does nothing to get Todd's dirty fingers off his skin.

"That's right," Todd murmurs, tracing Jesse's scars. "Go to sleep now."

They'll continue in the morning.


	161. Day 161

By the time they're finished with him, Jesse can't walk. They give up after three attempts to get him on his own feet. Kenny yanks him up by one arm, looking immensely satisfied. With a lighter touch, Todd takes Jesse's other arm and drapes it across his shoulders. Together, they drag his limp body away from the shed and over to the cage. Todd carries him down the ladder alone.

When he lays Jesse out on the mattress, it's on his stomach. Jesse's back is too raw; the broken skin will stick to the cover. Since Jesse still can't really move his arms, Todd leaves the cuffs off for now. If they keep cutting off his circulation, Jesse really will lose the use of his hands. And Todd doesn't want that.

Jesse shuts his eyes the moment his head rests on the sleeping roll. It's softer than the floor, which makes it an improvement. But he isn't ready to sleep yet, despite his wave of relief now that the torture session's over. As Todd starts to walk back towards the ladder, Jesse murmurs, "Stay…"

Todd turns around, surprised. He takes wary steps back to Jesse's side, suspecting some kind of trap. But when he looks over Jesse's naked body, he can't see anything that could possibly pose a threat. There's no way Jesse could begin to fight him with arms and legs alone. So he kneels down next to Jesse, quiet.

"I wanna tell you something." Jesse opens his eyes, able to only just see Todd out of the corner of his vision. "I wanna tell you… You don't have to do what he says."

Todd gives him a perplexed look.

"I wish somebody told me that. Like really told me. They don't really know what's best for you. All they know is how to make you the best for them."

"Jess—"

"He isn't helping you," Jesse goes on, regardless. "Jack. He isn't teaching you, or… or showing you what you're really supposed to be like. Or whatever he says he's doing. He's using you. I'm just telling you, Todd… You don't have to let him."

Todd frowns and sits back on his heel. He doesn't look angry. He looks troubled. Whatever Jesse's saying is probably the ramblings of delirium, but Todd can sense the weight in them, even if he doesn't really understand what Jesse's getting at. "Relax now," he utters after a moment of consideration. They can always talk later.


	162. Day 162

Jesse wakes sometime around dawn, shivering. Even with the tarp laid over the grate overhead, the cell has gotten chilly overnight, and his clothes are lying in a torn and bloodied pile up above, on the floor of the tool shed. He tries to roll onto his side so that he can curl up in the fetal position, but even moving his knees a few inches send a sharp pain through his body. He gives up, laying his cheek down on the mattress once more.

"Was it worth it?" a snide voice asks.

"Go away," Jesse mutters.

"You never did put much thought into anything. It was barely a plan to begin with. And even though you somehow managed to nearly pull it off, you threw it all away on a whim. Typical."

"Go _away_."

Footsteps scrape across the floor as Mr. White comes closer. He regards Jesse impassively, arms crossed over his chest. "A week ago, you had everything you could want. I mean, they even had you living in their house. But you were ungrateful and impulsive, as always. You never once let yourself be happy about the good things in your life. You always wanted more. Now look at you. Nearly six months and you've gotten nowhere."

"Stop—"

"And you know what?" Mr. White continues. "You'll _always_ go nowhere. You've been treading water since the day we met. It doesn't matter if you're in here or out there. You never actually want to go anywhere. You didn't save Todd because you cared about him. You did it because you wanted to get caught."

"Who would ever want this?" Jesse snaps, his eyes brimming with tears. "Why would I?"

Mr. White lifts his eyebrows and tips his head in Jesse's direction. "I don't know, Jesse. Why? Why do you always choose to go backwards instead of forward?"

"God!" Jesse chokes. "Just—Just get outta my head!"

Mr. White chuckles. "Oh, Jesse. Jesse, Jesse, Jesse… You don't get it."

"Get what?"

"This is exactly what I'm talking about."

With a wail, Jesse tosses his head back in frustration and slams it back onto the floor. He misses the concrete, which is a shame, because he'd rather knock himself unconscious than listen to this shit. He ends up hiding his face there, trying not to look or to listen. He's hurting enough already. He doesn't need Mr. White rubbing salt in the wounds.

But he feels Mr. White's hand on the back of his neck, stroking his hair. He remembers in vivid detail how it felt back then, too, out in the desert when Mr. White cradled him in his arms and promised him a new life. Jesse'd had his chance to go forward on that day, too. And he'd ruined it all just because he'd wanted revenge.

Maybe it's true. Maybe he _was_ never going to go anywhere. Maybe this how his life was always meant to play out.


	163. Day 163

After hosing Jesse down, Todd dresses him in a pair of fresh jeans and half-carries him back into the cage. Jesse can mostly use his legs again, but he still needs help when it comes to sitting, so Todd has to carefully lower him onto the mattress. It burns where they whipped the back of his knees and the undersides of his feet. There's really no comfortable position. For now Jesse sits with his legs stretched out in front of him.

Once Jesse's settled, Todd takes a seat beside him and pulls a syringe from his pocket. Jesse gives it a wary look as Todd uncaps it. It's not that he thinks it's poison—these people aren't the type—but if it's heroin, they're almost certainly giving it to him so that they can torture him with withdrawal later.

Todd catches his eye and assures him, "Antibiotics."

Jesse nods and looks at the floor, holding still. Todd sticks the needle in his arm but the pinch goes unnoticed, and Jesse can't even tell it's done until Todd pulls back. "Thanks," Jesse murmurs, a habit he's having trouble breaking now.

"Yeah," Todd replies. He caps the syringe and tucks it away again.

When Jesse glances over, Todd's eyes are pointed straight ahead, focused on the opposite wall. Jesse can't tell if he's angry or simply lost in thought. Either way, it doesn't seem like a good idea to speak. He lowers his eyes again, following the trail of a wolf spider as it makes its way across the ground and up the side of the oubliette.

Ten minutes of silence pass between them before Todd gets up and climbs out of the cell, not a word of goodbye.


	164. Day 164

"Let's see you move them fingers," Jack orders around his cigarette.

Jesse responds with some concentration, his fingers twitching slowly at first, then curling more easily into a fist. He feels the faintest tingle of pressure, but his hands are mostly still numb. Even though the swelling's gone down, they feel fatter than they should. Maybe it's just the lack of any real sensation.

Jack nods in satisfaction. "Yeah, you're getting there. Don't worry about it." He takes Jesse by the shoulder and bends him forward to examine the lacerations on his back. "Shots seem to be working. No infection far as I can see. You want something for the pain?"

Jesse answers without hesitation, "No."

Jack cackles and slaps Jesse right on the scabs, sending him doubling over in a wince. "Look at you, workin' hard to stay sober. Should I get you one of them chips?"

Jesse growls deep in his throat, half in annoyance and half in pain.

"Come on now," Jack says, ducking down to catch Jesse's eye. "Don't be holdin' grudges. Tap you on the nose now and then, but that don't mean I don't appreciate you. You don't wanna forget how much worse this could get for you."

Jesse doesn't break his gaze, his eyes filled with all the malevolence he isn't free to express.

Jack sighs and tosses his cigarette aside so he can ease closer to Jesse. He grabs hold of the back of Jesse's neck, and all at once, their proximity becomes too intimate for Jesse. He tries to jerk away, but Jack holds him there, so close that their noses are nearly touching.

"You messed up," Jack whispers. "Everybody messes up sometimes. But I like you. I see great things for you, when you're in the right hands. You used to be a little rat, scurrying around, crying and crying. Now look at you. _Now_ look at you. You almost blew me up with my own bombs, son. That shit takes real balls. You're exactly what this gang needs. I still believe that."

When Jesse tries to turn his head, Jack seizes him by the chin. " _Listen_ ," Jack snaps, his fingernails digging into Jesse's skin. "I got no legacy here. Todd may be my nephew, but he ain't no son of mine. He don't have it. But I see it in you, that fire I had in my youth. Your old man Heisenberg wasted it. But I'm gonna make you great."

Jack releases him at last, finishing with the fervor of a preacher, "Jesse Pinkman don't have to be a footnote in Heisenberg's story."


	165. Day 165

The grate swings open and Jesse looks up to find Todd there, placing his lunch into the bucket just like he used to do, way back in the beginning. Todd doesn't even look at Jesse while he does it. He keeps his eyes focused on something above-ground as he starts to lower the bucket by its rope.

"Todd," Jesse croaks. "You won't even come down?"

"Uncle Jack says your hands work again," Todd says, still refusing to look at him.

"I'm not gonna hurt you. He woulda put me in the cuffs if he was worried about it."

The bucket reaches the floor and Todd finally turns his eyes downward. "What I mean is, you can feed yourself."

"I just wanna see you," Jesse pleads.

His tone must sound desperate enough, because Todd no longer looks like he's about to get up and leave. He considers Jesse for a moment, then drags the ladder over. Jesse moves the bucket aside to make way for him. When Todd reaches the bottom, he gives a look around as if checking to see if Jesse's hiding something. Jesse keeps still to avoid setting him off, remaining seated on the mattress.

When he's satisfied, Todd sits down beside him. He hugs one knee to his chest like a shield and waits for Jesse to say whatever he wanted to say.

Jesse forces a trembling little smile to his lips. "We haven't really talked, huh."

"We talked plenty," Todd says coolly, "in the shed."

A shiver runs through Jesse. "Yeah," he agrees. "Yeah, we did. But that's not what I mean. I haven't told you why I—"

"Tried to kill me?" Todd interrupts.

"Tried to _save_ you," Jesse insists.

"You put me to sleep and tried to blow me up," Todd retorts, though his tone is flat and hollow. "After everything I did for you. Everything I promised. I told you if you ever needed me…"

"I was scared. I made a mistake, okay? But I'm not asking you to forgive me. There's something else going on, Todd. Something you gotta know about."

Todd shakes his head. "Jess, I don't… I don't wanna do this. The lying never stops with you, does it? All that time I was taking care of you, you were just pretending to be my friend. Biding your time, Uncle Jack says."

"No. No, that's not—"

Todd isn't finished. "You changed something," he says softly, looking into Jesse's eyes. "Being around you… I'm not the same as I used to be. But it ain't a nice kinda feeling. It makes me feel the same as when my mom left. I haven't felt like this since all the way back then. I worked hard to get strong, and you just come in here and—and I don't know what. You're messing me up."

"No, hey, it's a good thing. That feeling… That's what you're supposed to feel when something sad happens." Jesse reaches out to him. "It means you're—"

Todd slaps his hand away. "No, it's _not_ good, Jesse."

Jesse recoils and shuts his mouth. He's too weak to anger Todd. He can't bear the thought of enduring another torture session.

Todd sighs and draws himself up, getting to his feet. "Eat your food. You gotta get strong enough to work again."


	166. Day 166

When they reach the entrance to the lab, Todd bends to secure the shackles around Jesse's ankles. From there, walking gets more difficult. After so long without them, Jesse has to re-learn how to move his feet without extending too far. His muscles remember some of it, at least, so that he doesn't immediately go tumbling over when he takes his first step. But he's uneasy in his footing, especially with his legs still sore from the caning they gave him.

The handcuffs stay off for now, but Todd still chains him to the dog run. Jesse looks up, remembering how close he came to death in this spot, and how sweet that would have been compared to this: his return to slavery with no end in sight and no one to help him and no one to even care for him anymore—except Uncle Jack, who's bent on grooming him for something he can hardly stand to think about.

To be reshaped in the image of that man… And here Jesse thought Mr. White was bad.

With Jesse securely leashed, Todd walks off to fetch him an apron and gloves. Jesse's left to look around, rediscovering the lab from this limited position. The cameras have been corrected so that they're fixed on him once more, and Jesse has no doubt that Jack's watching the feed right now. Jesse stares long and hard into one of those dark lenses.

When Todd returns, he drapes the apron over Jesse's body and ties it for him. Jesse turns his head and tries to catch his eye, but Todd keeps his head bowed as he passes the gloves over. Then he's gone again, off to dress himself.

Jesse's eyes return to the camera. Is this part of Jack's plan, to drive a rift between the two of them? Or did Jesse do that himself when he betrayed Todd's trust? It'll be the first time Todd's ever really held a grudge, in Jesse's memory. But then, Todd did say that things have changed. For the worse.

Jesse sighs and pulls on his gloves. His arms still tingle but his nerves have regained most of their feeling. He might as well take comfort in that and in the work that lies ahead of him. Isn't that all he has now?


	167. Day 167

Jesse catches Todd by the arm before he can turn to climb back up the ladder. Todd looks at him sharply, alarmed and bracing himself for an attack. But Jesse only clings to his wrist to keep him there in the cage, where they can look each other in the eye and talk without being overheard. "I wanna fix this," he says. "Just hear me out, okay? Just gimme a chance."

Todd's eyes narrow. "Jesse…"

" _Please_." Jesse's grip tightens, though his fingers are weak. He couldn't hurt Todd even if he wanted to. "I know I shoulda trusted you. You did everything right, okay? It wasn't _about_ you."

"Then what was it?"

Jesse draws closer to him, his voice dropping to a whisper, "Uncle Jack."

Todd remains skeptical, waiting for Jesse to elaborate.

"You remember—You remember how you were worried he was doing stuff to me? Remember last week, when he hit me and I said I wanted it? You were right, Todd. I didn't want it. I was too scared to tell you."

"This is a bad idea, kid," Mike comments from the sidelines. "You're digging yourself a deeper hole."

He's right. Todd doesn't seem to be buying it. "Why?" he asks. "I told you I'd protect you."

"I wasn't thinking straight. I'm such an idiot. I know. But—" Jesse clasps Todd's hand and bows his head deeply. "—I knew I made a mistake. I couldn't let you die with the rest of 'em. You and me… We're the same. What Jack does to you is like what Mr. White always did to me. He's messing with your head. And I know it's hard to hear, 'cause he's family. But it's the truth. I saved you 'cause _both_ of us gotta get away from him."

"It's too late for that," Todd murmurs. "I'm not leaving my family for you."

"He's gonna _replace_ you," Jesse hisses, frantic. "You aren't any good to him now."

"Jess, that doesn't make any sense. Who's he gonna replace me with? What for?"

" _Me._ He wants me to take over. We can't let him do it, Todd. You're with me on this, right? We gotta get away from this place. Away from him."

Todd reaches with his free hand to cup Jesse's face. "Jess, breathe for a second."

"Are you listening to me? Todd, something bad's gonna happen to you. You can't let him have me."

"I heard you," Todd utters. "Leave it to me now. You need to relax. You're hyperventilating."

He is. He hadn't noticed. He sucks in a deep breath and swallows before nodding.

Todd smiles at him for the first time in a long while. "Good boy. Don't think about this anymore. I'll take care of everything."


	168. Day 168

Todd doesn't linger after bringing Jesse's meal. Once he's gone, Jesse spends a good long time staring up at the bars, as if Todd will change his mind and come back, and then Jesse can get a few words in, and maybe he'll find out what's going on. Whatever Todd may be planning, there's no sign of it yet. Given that Jesse would be tortured if things were going sour, then no news is good news.

But it's also making him a little crazy. He doesn't know what he should be doing. He doesn't know if he should speak when he sees Todd or keep silent. He feels like he ought to be preparing, but he doesn't know how. And the worst of it is his hope. He's putting his faith in someone to rescue him again, and when has that ever worked out for him? Each step forward doesn't just end in two steps back; it ends in a backwards tumble off a cliff.

He spends the day flexing his fingers and his wrists. The handcuffs are on him again, so his movement is limited, but he's convinced that wiggling around will at least encourage his nerves to repair. Plus, it's always been a nervous habit of his, and this is as appropriate a time as ever for anxiety to set in.

"Jesse," Jane says after about an hour of watching him go at it. "You mind if I give you a little advice here?"

Jesse looks up and over at her. "Go for it."

She leans forward, hands on her knees. "You need to get your shit together."

"What?"

"You're losing it. And I'm not saying you don't have every right to lose it, because this is one massively fucked-up situation. But when you start to lose your grip like this, it's hard to get a hold on it again." She glances down at his fidgeting hands, then returns her gaze to his eyes. "Right now, you're slipping away."

"I'm okay," he swears. "Todd's taking care of it. I'm almost in the clear."

Jane purses her lips. "See? That's what I'm talking about. You're not thinking straight."

"What're you talking about?"

She nods to the grate above. "Todd's probably up there right now studying his notes so he can get his cook right. And then he's gonna kill you. Because you just told him yesterday that you're a real threat to him and not just his dancing monkey."

Perturbed, Jesse draws his shoulders up. "No, come on…"

"Baby, think about it. Think about who that psycho is. Think about what he does to people who get in his way. I'm not trying to scare you, but you know the reality here: he's not going to even blink when he shoots you."

Jesse's face crumples and he looks at the cuffs locked around his wrists. Jane's right, of course. But if he doesn't have Todd's devotion, then he's got nothing left to hold onto. Everything else is gone. There's just the meth and the lab and Todd. If Todd forsakes him, then death is the best case scenario.

The worst is falling into Uncle Jack's care.


	169. Day 169

Jesse starts awake when Uncle Jack jerks him up by his chains, dragging him to his feet with a painful wrench at his joints. He lets out a sharp yelp before Jack silences him with a hand over his mouth and shoves him up against the wall. He can hardly breathe with Jack's palm stifling him, his chest rising and falling rapidly, in short bursts.

This is it, Jesse assumes. Todd's letting go of him the way Jane predicted.

When Jack seems assured that Jesse isn't about to keep yelling, he draws his hand back and tucks it under Jesse's chin, instead. He fusses for a minute in a way that reminds Jesse of Todd: brushing Jesse's hair out of his eyes and pulling him a bit taller to fix his posture. When that's done, he backhands Jesse across the face.

Already sandwiched between Jack and the wall, Jesse doesn't go far. But the hit leaves him reeling, bloody spittle flying in a spray across the floor.

"Quit looking so stupid," Jack mutters.

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Is that what you are?" Jack takes Jesse by the chin again, wiping at that bloody lip with his sleeve. "Why don't you tell me what you're so sorry about?"

"What?"

"I know you ain't just sorry for looking stupid."

"I, um…"

"Maybe you're sorry for looking this particular kind of stupid," Jack observes. "That caught-with-the-cookie-jar kinda stupid. You know what I'm talking about here, partner. Don't gimme that slack-jawed look."

Jesse starts to shake his head and Jack hits him again. When Jesse recovers, his eyes go briefly to the grate. His first thought is that Todd must be standing there, just out of sight, listening to everything that's happening.

Jack looks up, too. "What? You looking for Toddy? Is that what you're doing? What's Todd gonna do for you? Is he gonna come down here and take the next hit for you? Make you a nice human shield? Is that what you're praying for?"

Jesse opens his mouth and immediately shuts it again. He can't tell whether Jack's looking for him to answer in the negative or the affirmative, and Jesse himself isn't sure whether that's what he's hoping for or not.

Jack seizes him by the shoulders and gives him a rough shake. "Say what you're gonna say, boy."

"I was just wondering…" Jesse answers weakly.

"Wondering what?"

"Where he is."

"Why?"

Jesse answers honestly with what sounds like a lie, "I don't know."

For a second, Jack doesn't move. He studies Jesse's face, searching out something in his eyes. Then he smiles, musses up Jesse's hair, and lets go of him. "Go back to sleep," he orders, amusement in his voice.


	170. Day 170

"Jess?"

He snaps out of it and looks over to Todd, eyes wide in alarm. "Yeah?"

Todd nods to the bucket in his hands. That's right. He was supposed to be bringing it over. As he starts to turn, the leash gets stuck in the dog run and he has to pause to yank it free before continuing over to Todd's side. Todd relieves him of it and sets it on the table, taking a moment to examine Jesse. His eyes linger on Jesse's split lip. "Anything going on? You know, that you wanna talk about?"

"I'm fine," Jesse answers automatically.

"Jesse," Todd says in a voice only subtly sterner. "Weren't you gonna stop lying to me?"

Guilt immediately crosses Jesse's face and he directs a glance to the cameras. Uncle Jack's watching and almost certainly listening. If he's going to open up, he doesn't want to do it here. "I, um…"

"You're confused again, huh?"

Jesse looks at Todd again. He wasn't confused before, but now he is.

"You went away," Todd elaborates. "In your head. You went to that place you go sometimes."

"You can tell?—I mean. Yeah. I guess. That's one way of putting it."

Todd gives a slow nod, as if he understands exactly. "It's okay. That's okay. You're not in trouble. My mom was like that, too. When she started to go. It's only trouble if you're alone. But you got me here looking after you."

Jesse bristles. "What's that mean, 'when she started to go'?" He doesn't really need to ask. He can already guess at Todd's meaning.

Todd smiles and pats him on the shoulder, dismissive. "You're okay. Just breathe."

Jesse takes a step back. Todd thinks he's crazy. Well—of course Todd thinks he's crazy. He tried to murder the guy. But Todd, of all people? There's the pot calling the kettle black. Not that Todd actually said it. He's just implying it. Maybe. And maybe it's true. Maybe Jesse just reminds the guy of his mom. Meth heads: they're not the most stable people. Jesse knows all that, logically.

Still… there's an undercurrent of truth. Jane pointed it out, too, that he hasn't been all-there.

"Let's just focus on the cook," Todd murmurs patiently. "You know what step we're on, right?"

Jesse nods, glad to turn Todd's attention elsewhere.


	171. Day 171

It must be around noon when someone comes by and rips the cover off the grate, because the cell suddenly floods with light. When Jesse looks up to see who's there, he's instantly blinded by the sun directly overhead. And by the time he's readjusted his chains enough for his hands to shield his eyes, whoever was up there has gone.

"Hey!" Jesse shouts. "Hey, you can't—I _need_ that!"

The hooting sound of laughter from a short distance away tells him that it's no accident. Jesse sinks back, helpless. It's not exactly a surprise, the boys fucking with him now that they're free to do it again. He can't imagine any of them are too concerned if he dies down here, even if it brings down Uncle Jack's wrath. Hell, they might be so pissed at him by now that it's Jack they're really trying to get at. Everything must be badly screwed for him now, after how hard he worked to get Jesse in with them only for them to be right about him all along.

Jesse isn't sorry about that. But slowly dying of heatstroke... Even if he wants to be dead, this isn't how he wants to go.

The temperature of the desert overhead is somewhere in the nineties, maybe even over a hundred. The cell, when it was shrouded with shade, was maybe twenty degrees cooler. Now it's rapidly heating up, the concrete soaking up the sun's rays. Jesse feels it, too: harsh on his pale, freckled skin. It isn't long before the radiation makes him feel like he's literally being cooked.

He shoves his body up against the corner with the most shade—which isn't enough to shield his entire body, but does a little to protect his neck while he tries to curl the rest of his body inward. It's unbearably hot like this, impossible to catch even the slightest breeze.

As the minutes pass, his head starts to throb. He only has one bottle of water to last him until whenever Todd reappears, and he seriously considers dumping it onto his face for only a moment of relief. Somehow he manages to resist, conserving it for small sips.

Even so, the water runs out after a couple hours. By then, the sun has moved enough to return some shade, but the hole remains a furnace of burning concrete. Jesse's legs no longer function. He stays curled up in the corner all the while, his forehead resting on his knees, sweat running in a straight line from his face down his bare calves.

Louder and louder, thrumming in his head, a relentless voice reminds him: "This is payback."


	172. Day 172

"Don't be such a pussy," Jack snorts, switching out the bag of saline that's hooked up to Jesse's I.V. "It was just a little prank."

Todd glances at him before squeezing out another glob of aloe onto his palm. He rubs it over Jesse's shoulder in slow, tender circles.

Heedless to the tense atmosphere, Jack continues with a chuckle, "Anyway, you stopped throwing up, so no harm done."

"He's burned pretty bad," Todd murmurs, eyes lowered.

"I'm fine," Jesse sighs. He looks over as Todd prepares to spread more gel onto his back. "You don't have to..."

"Blisters get infected," Todd replies shortly.

"He's something, ain't he," Jack says to Jesse, his lip curled. "Always looking out for what's his. You could learn a thing or two about loyalty from this kid."

"Yeah," Jesse agrees flatly.

"Toddy, leave that alone now and go get a couple of those pills from the house. Do him more good than some stupid lotion."

Todd and Jesse exchange a silent glance as Todd puts aside the aloe and gets to his feet. "I'll bring some ice water, too," he tells Jesse before disappearing up the ladder.

"What's up with him?" Jack asks once Todd's gone.

"What do you mean?"

"He's in a mood," Jack responds with a hint of irritation at Jesse's obtuseness. "Don't tell me you ain't noticed he's in a mood."

"I can't tell anything when it comes to him," Jesse mutters.

"I bet you're hoping he takes you back upstairs," Jack says.

"He can't."

"You're right." Jack sits back against the wall, getting a smug look on his face. "But I could."

Jesse shuts his eyes and gives a slow shake of his head, exhaling a sigh through his nose. Not this again. This game, or whatever this is. This tug-of-war going on between uncle and nephew. "I don't want anything you think you could give me," Jesse murmurs, "and I don't have anything to give you."

"'course you do," Jack replies, clapping a hand down Jesse's sunburned shoulder. "You were almost there before. You just couldn't commit. Think about it, if you really could. Think about how much easier it gets for you when you turn yourself over to a higher power. They teach that shit to you over in N.A., right? Hey, don't they teach you that? You don't know what to do with your life, so you turn it over to somebody who does."

"They're talking about God," Jesse says.

" _Well_ ," Jack laughs darkly, spreading his hands. "Close enough."


	173. Day 173

Jesse looks up. "Do you hear that?"

Todd looks over to him, his face mostly obscured by his gas mask. "What?"

" _That_ ," Jesse answers unhelpfully. It should be obvious, though. He can hear it even over the humming of the machines: tinny and irritating, like nails on a chalkboard to his ears. "Is your phone ringing?"

Todd pauses to check, reaching into his pocket to pull out his cell. But when he holds it up for Jesse to see, there's no one calling. He shrugs and puts it away.

"What about your iPod?" Jesse asks. "You have it on?"

"It's in my room," Todd replies, bewildered. "Why?"

The music continues. Jesse isn't sure if it's playing in the lab itself or outside. He forgets his work, walking away from the tank and heading down the line of the dog run toward the lab's entrance.

"Jess?" Todd calls after him.

When the line ends and the leash goes taut, Jesse jolts to a stop. He still can't tell where the sound's coming from. He swivels around to look at Todd. "You seriously don't hear that?"

"I don't hear anything…"

"But it's definitely yours," Jesse says, half-accusing. "It's your music. It's one of the songs you kept playing for me."

Todd takes slow, cautious steps toward Jesse, like he's worried about setting him off. "There's no music playing, Jess."

"But I hear it," Jesse insists, his voice rising.

"Okay," Todd says, holding his hands out. "I believe you. But _I_ don't hear it."

"Then you're deaf or something." Jesse tugs the mask off his face and tosses it to the ground. The music's only clearer when he does. "It's getting louder. How the hell don't you hear that?"

"What song is it?" Todd asks in an indulgent tone. The sort of tone that people use with children. Or crazy people.

"It's one of the Duran Duran ones," Jesse spits, as if that's proof. He wishes he could remember the name of it. Maybe that would help.

Todd replies with that same soft tone, "That's a good song. If you want, I could go get my—"

"I'm not crazy!" Jesse snaps. "It's playing right now. Just listen. Just _listen_."

But the second the echo of his voice fades from the room, so does the music. He stands there for a moment, waiting for some hint of it to return. He listens to the churning of the machines, trying to figure out if he misheard one of them. Nothing. A quiet settles over them like a fog.

Finally, Todd moves, bending to pick Jesse's ventilator up off the floor. "We can take a break," he murmurs.


	174. Day 174

Jesse wakes in the morning with a splitting headache, feeling nauseated all over again. If it wasn't for the fact that he hasn't touched alcohol since he was being kept in the house, he'd think he's hungover. His whole body feels sluggish and heavy.

After about a half hour of lying there, useless, he forces himself to move. It's probably just dehydration again. He'll start feeling better as soon as he's had a drink. He rolls onto his side and squirms until his water bottle is within reach of his chained hands.

Before he can grab it, he notices something else: his arms are covered in scratches. Deep red scratches that sting now that he's spotted them.

He pushes himself into a sitting position, examining the shallow gashes that run up and down his forearms. His first thought is that someone climbed down while he was sleeping and cut him up. But he would've woken up, wouldn't he? And when he examines his hands more closely, he finds dried blood under his fingernails.

He did this to himself. In his sleep.

Shaken, Jesse pulls his shirt up to examine his torso. More scratches: long, angry stripes across his abdomen, crusted with blood. He attacked himself like a wild animal and he can't remember a thing about it. He can't even remember dreaming about anything that would've brought this on, like a nightmare about fighting off Todd or Jack or the others—a nightmare he has frequently, and without these results. Instead, what he remembers of his dreams were pleasantly abstract. They were a welcome break from his mind's nightly torture sessions.

Why did he hurt himself? Why now?

Before he can come to an answer, the nausea spikes, bile rises up in his throat, and he doubles over to vomit into his waste bucket.


	175. Day 175

"No fever, no infection," Uncle Jack notes as he draws his hand away from Jesse's forehead. "Live to cook another day."

Jesse keeps still, his gaze fixed on the floor, intentionally averted from Jack. He didn't ask to be examined and he doesn't care about the state of his health. _Physical_ health, anyway. He knows well by now that they'll do what it takes to keep him breathing and moving. What really worries him is the toll it's taking on his mind, on what's left of his soul. The foundations are crumbling out from under him.

Jack snaps his fingers in front of Jesse's face. "Answer me when I'm talking to you."

"Yes, sir."

"'Yes, sir,' what?"

"...I don't know."

Jack sighs through his teeth, his patience wearing thin. "Okay, let's try again: how's your stomach feeling today?"

Jesse shrugs. "Feels like I swallowed a buncha nails, but at least I ain't puking anymore."

When Jack doesn't respond, Jesse finally lifts his chin and glances over. He finds Jack staring at him in expectation, eyebrows raised. "Any day now," Jack says.

Jesse's eyes narrow. "I just told you."

What little humor remained drops from Jack's expression. "The hell'd you just say to me?"

It's so completely incongruous with the conversation that all Jesse can say is, "What?"

Jack swings his arm out and backhands Jesse across the mouth, splitting his lip and sending droplets of blood flying. Jesse goes reeling, falling back against the wall, wide eyes focused on Jack entirely now. The man grabs hold of Jesse's collar and pulls him to his feet. "Make one more wisecrack again," Jack growls.

Jesse sputters, "I wasn't—"

Jack hits him again. "Say something else, funny man. Come on."

Jesse shrinks back as far as he can, utterly dumbfounded. It's like they're both hearing two different things. Like Jack's talking to a whole different person, a mirror version of Jesse who's apparently hurling insults at him. Bad ones, if Jack's this angry and not amused like he usually is. Not knowing what else to do, Jesse raises his hands and clamps them down over his mouth.


	176. Day 176

Jesse stops what he's doing and picks up his head, listening. That music again. Distinctive, electronic opening notes plucking clear through the air, spiralling down and down before the drum beats rise to join them. He's so certain of it. It's not the ventilation fans he's hearing, or the drone of the tanks, or anything else he'd tried to convince himself he was mistaking for a song last time.

He turns to Todd, to see if he's hearing this, but Todd remains focused on his measurements without so much as a look around. Jesse opens his mouth, then shuts it. His jaw still aches from the beating Jack gave him and he's worried he'll say the wrong thing again. Is it worth the risk, all to be told that what he's hearing isn't real, anyway?

...And what if it really is all in his head?

Jesse turns back to the counter, clutching the edge of it to keep himself steady. It's solid. Real. The lab, too, is solid and real. The chains that bind him are real enough to keep him here. When he looks up, he sees air ducts and wires and crossbeams that he's seen a hundred times—and those, too, are real. He isn't so far gone.

He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath of cat piss-flavored air. If he could imagine himself anywhere, retreat into insanity and find himself anyplace his mind could take him, then he wouldn't be seeing this place or hearing Todd's song or smelling this shit.

When he reopens his eyes, he finds Andrea beside him. Her fingers stroke his hand, soft and reassuring, while her eyes search his face and note the distress written there. "Baby…" she murmurs.

"Do _you_ hear it?" he asks her.

"Yeah, I hear it," she says. "It's really there. This place is wired up, you know? They're playing it to mess with you."

"I don't know…" Jesse casts another glance over to Todd.

"What, you don't think he'd fuck with you?" Andrea reaches over to take Jesse by the chin, pulling his attention back to her. "Don't you remember what else he's done to us?"

" _Jesus_ ," Jesse hisses under his breath, blinking back the tears that suddenly blur his vision. "I'm never gonna forget. That's not what I meant."

"Then what _did_ you mean?"

"It ain't just the music. It's so much. It's everything. Little things every second, every day. It got better for a little bit, but now I'm back in that cage, back in here, back in these—" He rattles his chains. "—and it's getting to me."

"Of course it's getting to you," Andrea says, squeezing his hand. "But Jesse, the music is real. You aren't crazy."

Jesse looks down at her hand, her slender fingers entwined with his, and smiles weakly. "Who am I even talking to?" he whispers.


	177. Day 177

He sweeps the washcloth over the side of the metal tank is slow circles, watching the suds form waves and collapse in on themselves. The pattern is infinite, each loop connected to the next connected to the next connected to the next. White bubbles smear across his distorted reflection. Some of them catch the light with little rainbows. Pretty, delicate things.

Jesse glances over his shoulder to see whether Todd's returned. He hasn't.

He puts the towel down and leans in so the cameras won't quite catch what he's up to. The soap's foam forms a good layer across the shiny surface. Jesse stretches out his index finger and starts drawing into it. The drawings aren't much—stick figures on little surf boards riding the waves he just created—but they make him smile. Private and small.

The ocean. When was the last time he saw the ocean? He and Badger were supposed to take a trip out west, but that was the autumn of his ill-fated reunion with Mr. White and he had to cancel plans so that he could focus on cooking. Mr. White was dying, he'd told himself at the time. California could wait.

He won't see California now. No Pacific Ocean for him. It's really sinking in. It must be this way for people with cancer, too: realizing all the things they won't get to do, all the things they'd once promised themselves they'd get to eventually. Prisoners and dead people both run out of _tomorrow_ s.

A breeze brushes through open door of the lab and Jesse shuts his eyes as it grazes his skin. Ocean mist on his face. Salt in the air, in his nose and on his tongue. If he listens hard enough, he can hear the water lapping on the shore. The tide rolls in with a roar and pushes sand over his bare feet, burying them. The sun sets pink behind his eyelids.

There's still time to catch a few waves before darkness falls.


	178. Day 178

When Jesse wakes, he's overcome with that sluggish and hungover feeling again. The cell feels wobbly even while he's lying down, and simply turning his head makes his stomach do a backflip. He has to squeeze his eyes shut until the nausea passes. If he vomits on his bed, they'll make him sleep in it. He's got to at least gather enough strength to pull the bucket closer.

When he feels a bit more settled, he reopens his eyes and rolls onto his side, preparing to squirm closer to that nasty-ass toilet bucket. Before he can move, however, his eyes fall upon an object not a foot from where his head lies.

It's a shoe. A tiny child's sneaker, white with blue details. Compared to everything else in this cage, all coated in sandy dust and smears of blood and grime, the shoe looks pristine.

His sick stomach forgotten, Jesse pushes himself up and grabs hold of the shoe. He's amazed by how solid it feels in his hands. It looked so surreal that he was sure his hand would pass right through it, a fever dream. Even now, as he turns it over and examines it, he isn't sure how real it actually is. His fingers tell him it exists without question, but his mind has to wonder.

Because what is it doing here, really? A single shoe, fresh and pristine, as if it just came out of a Foot Locker box. Has it even been worn?

Jesse swallows hard, his fingers tracing the patterns on the bottom of the shoe. A chill passes over him and his mouth goes dry. What if it isn't a vision? What if they've left this here for him to find?


	179. Day 179

"Jess, you gotta eat…"

Jesse doesn't respond, his eyes fixed defiantly on the opposite wall. The shadows of the bars form a row of crosses there, like gravemarkers. He's never thought of them like that before.

Todd pushes the bowl against Jesse's limp hands. "Please eat," he whispers. "Why won't you eat?"

Jesse's lips part, on the verge of responding. Gravemarkers in a neat row. A lot of people have died. A lot of people. His mouth moves soundlessly.

Todd leans in, bringing his ear closer to Jesse's lips. "What? What'd you say?"

All at once, Jesse surges forward and snaps his teeth. Todd's flesh is spared only thanks to his quick reflexes and the bindings that hinder Jesse's movements. He jerks away just in time to avoid having his ear torn off. The bowl goes flying across the room, cereal and milk spilling everywhere.

"Jesse!" Todd cries, throwing a hand out to catch him by the throat. "What's wrong with you?"

Thrashing against Todd's hold, Jesse answers with an animalistic roar, " _You killed him!_ "

Todd's eyes go wide as he struggles to wrestle Jesse back against the wall. "Who? Who, Jesse?"

"Don't act like you don't know!" Jesse spits, kicking his legs out and beating at Todd's arms with his fists. "You killed him! You killed him!"

The noise has drawn the others. The hole goes dark as they gather around overhead. "The hell's going on down there?" Uncle Jack's voice demands.

"Tranq—" Todd barely manages to get out before Jesse's palm catches him in the mouth.

"Jesus Christ…" Uncle Jack mutters.

"I got it," Kenny says beside him, pulling a syringe from the pocket of his jacket. Apparently he's been anticipating this moment. He hops down the ladder and appears at Todd's side a second later, the shot of ketamine ready.

Jesse jabs an elbow out, aiming to disarm him, but Todd squeezes at his throat and wrenches his head to the side to give Kenny a clear patch of skin. When Kenny stabs the needle into his neck, Jesse's hateful eyes turn to Todd. It isn't over. They're putting him to sleep, but this isn't finished. "I'll kill you," Jesse gurgles as his muscles begin to sag involuntarily.

Todd relaxes his grip, and in his darkening vision, Jesse sees him pushing Kenny away. Then it all goes black.


	180. Day 180

The waves toss his body, jerking him from side to side. Every now and then, the water crests and pushes him up toward the black sky only to throw him back down again in one heart-stopping tumble. Sometimes he plunges underwater entirely, every sound muffled to his ears. Engulfed, he accidentally inhales water and sputters and chokes before he can reorient himself and break through the surface to get a gasp of oxygen.

And then it evens out again. Someone takes his arm and pushes another needle in and he relaxes, floating through the endless night on a gentle ocean.

Months seem to pass before the sun rises. Golden light fills his vision as his eyes roll open, water dripping down his chin. Rough hands tilt his head back and Jesse tries to reach up and push them away, but his own muscles fail to respond. Panic sets in until he remembers, distantly, that he's been tranquilized. He isn't missing his body. He's only missing control of it.

"Wakey, wakey," Jack mutters around a cigarette, ashes falling like snowflakes on Jesse's cheek.

Jesse struggles to get his tongue to work: "What's… happen…"

"You had a pissy crybaby fit is what happened." Jack reaches for another water bottle and dumps it out onto Jesse's face. "Come on, now. Climb outta the K-hole. Time to have a grownup talk now you're settled down."

Jesse tries to turn his head but the room goes spinning and he groans. There's a reason he never got into Special K. This is exactly it.

Jack smacks him across the lips. "Pull it together, you little shit."

Around a mouthful of fresh blood, Jesse gurgles, "You killed…"

"What? Speak up."

"You killed Brock…"

Jack snorts in response. "Who? The kid?"

Jesse turns his eyes up to Jack and swallows, giving a minute nod.

"I didn't kill no kid, shitbrains. Wake the fuck up already."

"There was a shoe," Jesse says, his voice growing louder.

"What?"

"His shoe," Jesse insists. "You left his shoe. It was here."

Jack lets Jesse's head fall back onto the mattress and he gives a wave around. "Do you see a goddamn shoe around here?"

Once he's recovered from that sudden lurch, Jesse takes a look around. It's hard to focus, but the cell is flooded with daylight, and the pristine white shoe is nowhere to be seen. Even with blurred vision, he's sure he would see it. Finally, he turns his head back toward Jack. "I don't…"

"Yeah," Jack says, nodding. "Yeah, that's right. You're outta your goddamn mind, dipshit."

Jesse doesn't understand. He held it in his hands. It was as real as anything else. But if it's true—if Jack's not lying to him—then Brock isn't dead at all. It was all in his head and Brock is somewhere far away, perfectly fine. And the idea of that reality gives him so much relief that tears spill from the corners of his eyes and he lets out a short laugh.

Jack slaps him again, across the cheek this time. "You losing it, huh? You losing it after I put all that energy into you?"

"Maybe I am," Jesse snickers, euphoric under the combined influence of ketamine and the knowledge that he hasn't lost everything—even if he's lost his mind.

"Well, we're gonna fix that," Jack mutters ominously, picking himself up. "Fix you right."

Jesse tosses his head back and laughs again, without a care.


	181. Day 181

He isn't so battered or sick that he can't work, and Todd comes for him in the morning to help him up to the lab. Jesse goes calmly, still placated by the knowledge that nothing truly awful has happened. Nothing like he imagined.

"I'm sorry I attacked you," he murmurs to Todd as they reach the surface.

Todd looks at him but says nothing, removing his arms from around Jesse as soon as he's steady on his feet.

The silence worries him, so he keeps talking: "I'm mixed up lately. I dunno… Everything that's been going on. I'm trying not to screw up, but I get so confused. Sometimes it seems like things are happening, but they're not. Like the music, you know? The music I heard in the lab?" Jesse tries to catch Todd's eye. "I'm not trying to be bad. I'm trying to be good. You believe me, right?"

Todd refuses to look at him, staring forward instead as he leads Jesse by the chains.

"I really am sorry," Jesse adds feebly. His shoulders tremble with the fear that Todd might be harboring a grudge. Jesse's been apologizing too much lately for making too many stupid mistakes, and there's still plenty of opportunity for Todd to make the worst scenario a reality.

It isn't until Todd's removing his handcuffs and attaching him to the leash inside that he finally speaks, low and barely moving his lips, "I believe you."

Jesse's mouth twitches into a tremulous smile. "Good," he whispers. "Thank you."

But Todd isn't finished yet. He looks away for a second, then inches closer to Jesse. "I believe you about everything."

Before Jesse can ask what that means, exactly, the music starts playing again. Soft and barely audible, but Jesse is close enough to Todd that he sees it: Todd's pupils contract in response and he jerks his chin up a millimeter or so. Todd hears it. Todd fucking hears the music, and he's pretending like he doesn't.

Jesse spins around, throwing a wide-eyed stare to the surveillance camera behind him. No—No, this isn't in his head. It was never in his head, was it? He wasn't lying to himself.

Todd places a hand on Jesse's chest to draw his attention back. His eyes are as intense as Jesse's ever seen them, and he gives Jesse a single order: "Behave."

Jesse knows better than to question it. The answers are all beginning to fall into place, anyway.


	182. Day 182

When Todd comes for him the next morning, Jesse stops him before they reach the ladder. "Wait," he says. "We gotta talk about this before we get in there again." Where the cameras are watching and their voices are being broadcast to Uncle Jack. All day long, maybe. It isn't as if the man has anything better to do with his time, now that he has everything he needs.

Todd turns around, his vacant eyes landing on Jesse. He isn't surprised he's being confronted. "I don't think we should."

Ignoring that, Jesse presses on, "What's his aim? He told you to ignore it, right? So what's his aim? What's he trying to do?"

"Jesse…"

" _Todd_ ," Jesse snaps back. "You know what's going on. And I don't think you like it. So just talk to me, okay?"

Todd presses his finger to his lips and glances up toward the grate. After a moment of listening for movement overhead, he directs Jesse away from the ladder and closer to the wall. "Keep your voice down," he warns.

Jesse complies, pleading weakly, "Tell me what's going on."

Todd reaches up to tenderly brush Jesse's hair back. "You're confused, Jess."

"I know that part."

"I mean you're confused about yourself."

Jesse bristles. "Don't try and tell me I'm crazy. If I'm going crazy, it's 'cause you guys are _making_ me crazy."

Todd sighs and cups Jesse's face with both hands. "No… No, we're making you _better_. We've been trying so hard. We've tried everything. But you gotta stop fighting it. You gotta let it in."

Jesse shrinks back against the wall, chains rattling, but he doesn't try to fight Todd off. "How's any of this supposed to make me better?" he asks, wide eyes fixed on Todd's. It's like staring into a void.

"I told you a long time ago, but I don't think you were listening." Todd's thumb traces the gash on his lip that he earned from Jack.

Jesse looks away, shaking. "You weren't ever gonna help me, were you. You don't give a shit."

"It hurts my feelings when you say stuff like that," Todd murmurs, "but I know it's just 'cause you don't understand yet."

A chill passes through Jesse and he becomes acutely aware of his position, Todd looming over him at the bottom of this pit. "Please," he whispers, tears brimming in his eyes as he looks up at Todd again. "Please, if you really care—if you ever cared about anything… Stop helping him. I can't take much more of this. I'll do whatever you want, but it's this thing—this game you guys are playing…"

"I know," Todd utters, wrapping Jesse up in his arms. "You're almost there."

Crushed between Todd and the wall, there's nowhere for Jesse to flee. He shudders and goes limp in Todd's embrace, waiting for this to be over. There's always the chance that this is another thing that isn't really happening. And even if it is, then all the kicking and screaming in the world isn't going to stop it.


	183. Day 183

Jesse tips his head back, shuts his eyes, and inhales the night air. Sleep won't come to him. When he tries to picture something nice, to drift away into a dream, the only flashes that come to mind are violent and merciless. He tries to hear the voices of people who used to love him and instead all he can hear are Todd or Jack or—or Mr. White, hateful and traitorous. He doesn't want any of them, but they're claiming the very last refuge he has.

He understands that this is what they want from him. They've sunk their teeth in and they want to eat him inside and out. His fingers trace the marks they've left on him, new and old, reading them like Braille. They're rewriting the story of him. _"Jesse Pinkman don't have to be a footnote,"_ Jack had said. Well, maybe not. But they're creating something new here, and maybe it's a ghost story or maybe it's something worse. Whatever it is, it isn't what Jesse himself would have written.

He used to be a superhero, back before he became a monster. He used to have the power to get away from anything. Right when the bad guys thought they had him in their claws, he'd slip away. Jane had laughed at that, but it was a more useful power than she thought. Most importantly, it had been his own. Not the power to torment or to kill, but to simply _escape_.

Anyway, that's gone now. Or slipping away from him with each passing day. They took his body a long time ago and now they have his mind. They have the power to control what's real and what isn't, and how is he supposed to fight that? He has these moments of lucidity that only serve to show him how completely fucked his perception is. When he looks back, he can't tell: did that happen or didn't it? That doubt might be the closest thing he has to certainty.

He's supposed to _stop fighting it_. He's supposed to _let it in_. What happens when he does, huh? What happens to him then? He heard all the stories in Sunday school, all about serpents and temptations, and you know what? Jesus died up on a cross, choking on his own lungs, and God just let it happen. To His own son. That's what happens when you keep fighting the good fight.

Jesse scrubs his hands over his face. He's mumbling all this stuff to himself. No one else is here. No one's listening. Outside, the world either thinks or hopes that he's dead. People are probably praying for it. "Don't worry," he tells them. "I'm dead. I _am_ dead." Dead and so far down in Hell he can't even dream about Heaven anymore, not if these devils have their way.

He shakes his head and hugs his knees, rocking back and forth. No, he can't think like that. The air is cool and clear and nothing's touching him right now. It might be hard, but he knows who he is, and he can't let them tell him otherwise. He doesn't know what happened yesterday and he doesn't know what's coming tomorrow, but he's here right now with his own mind and body. They can write a thousand stories about him and onto him but they can't _rewrite_ him.

Nobody can do that but himself.


	184. Day 184

"I know," Jesse murmurs.

Their conversation interrupted, both Jack and Todd look over to where he sits upon the mattress, curled in on himself with the untouched bowl of oatmeal in front of him. He hasn't been eating again, and that's a problem for them, but these are also the first words he has spoken in over a day and they're paying attention.

"What'd you say, Jess?" Todd asks after a moment.

"I know."

Uncle Jack heaves a sigh and rolls his eyes skyward. "Anyway, I'll hold 'im down and you just force-feed him 'til he swallows by hims—"

Jesse's voice rises: "I know what you're doing."

Jack snorts in response to his audacity, stepping forward. "Simmer down there, Mac."

"Uncle Jack," Todd begins with a grimace, "maybe I oughta do this by myself?"

Jack ignores him and crouches down in front of Jesse to stare into those wild blue eyes. He rolls his tongue around in his mouth, finding a challenge in Jesse's unbreaking gaze. "What is it you think you know?"

His chin jutting in defiance, Jesse eases forward. "I know you're working me."

"Uncle Jack—"

Jack holds up a hand to silence Todd without looking over. "How's that, then?" he asks Jesse.

"I know you been saying all this weird shit then acting like you never said it," Jesse answers. "I know you been acting like I'm talking crazy when I haven't. I know you been playing music so I think it's in my head and making Todd act like nothing's going on. But Todd's a shitty actor, so I can tell."

Jack flashes a grin at him. "Is that right?"

"It's not working," Jesse insists.

With a chuckle, Jack glances aside to Todd. " _It's not working_ ," he mimics. "That's a shame. Ain't that a shame, Toddy?"

Todd shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other, looking between Jack and Jesse.

Jesse directs his eyes to Todd, too. "How long are you gonna help him with this?" he snaps. "I see through it. There's no point in you keeping it up, okay? He's not doing anything for you. All the bad stuff that happened between you and me, it wouldn'ta ever happened if it weren't for him. So why're you still on his side?"

Todd opens his mouth, but Jack interjects before he can answer, "You're barking up the wrong tree here, you crazy little shit.

"I'm _not_ crazy," Jesse hisses at Jack before looking back to Todd, expectant. "Wasn't I there for you? Not just when it came to cooking. Didn't I save your life when Vagos came around here? Didn't I—Didn't I torture and kill a man, just for you? Just so I could be the brother you wanted?"

"The hell's he talking about…" Jack mutters.

"You _know_ what I'm talking about!" Jesse shouts back at him. And again, his eyes return to Todd.

In response, Todd gives a slow shake of his head.

With a roar of frustration, Jesse rolls forward and tries to jump to his feet, but Jack presses a hand to his chest and pins him back. "Toddy, you got a shot on you?" he asks, gesturing with his free hand while Jesse struggles against him.

"Yeah," Todd mumbles, approaching with caution as he pulls a syringe from his pocket. "Where should I stick him?"

"Stop lying," Jesse growls as Jack wrenches his arm out for the needle. "Stop pretending it didn't happen. I know it did. I know. Todd—Just say it!"

Jack nods when he's ready and Todd bends obediently to inject the drug into Jesse's vein.


	185. Day 185

Jack pauses in his pacing to take a drag of his cigarette. He exhales a stream of blue smoke skyward, the shadows of the bars forming latticework across his severe features. "Tell it to me again," he says.

"I already told you a hundred times," Jesse mumbles. His tongue feels thick in his mouth. He's parched. There's a bottle of water just across the cell but Jack's withholding it from him, probably until he tells it like Jack wants to hear it.

"Nah. What you told me's all some lunatic bullshit."

Jesse's voice drops to a whine, pleading for Jack to acknowledge it: "You said you wanted… like an heir or something. Like a son."

Jack scoffs. "And that's—what—that's supposed to be _you?_ "

"It's what you said," Jesse replies, exasperated.

Jack pivots to look at Jesse dead-on, sucking on his cigarette again before asking, "Why the hell would I want a rat like you when I already got my nephew up there?"

"Because he's crazy."

At that, Jack sweeps a steel-toed boot out to kick Jesse in the stomach. The wind knocked out of him, Jesse curls up on his side and hugs his abdomen, blinking back tears. "Insult my nephew one more time," Jack sneers, "and I'll kill you."

"It's what you said," Jesse whimpers into the concrete.

"I would _never_ —Hey, you listening to me?" Jack nudges Jesse's chin back with the tip of his boot. "I'd never put a rat like you over my own blood. I don't care how much money you're making me. That's delusions, you understand me? That's brain damage." He taps his temple for emphasis, the ashes from his cigarette scattering.

Jesse shakes his head. "You brought me up there. You took care of me. I lived in your house and you took me out for shooting lessons and you told 'em all I was one of you."

"Jesus…" Jack takes a step back. "Do you hear yourself? Does that sound real in that head of yours?"

"What do you _want?_ " Jesse cries, twisting to look up at him. "What do I have to say to get you to stop lying about it?!"

Jack jabs his cigarette toward Jesse's face. "I want you to get it straight," he says. "Everything you think? It's wrong. You can keep shouting about it and getting weepy about it and it's still gonna be wrong. 'cause you don't know anything. You life begins and ends between this hole and that lab. Whatever you think happened before… It didn't. You made up everything you just told me. You can repeat it 'til you're blue in the face, and it's still just gonna be air."

Jesse's lip trembles and he shrinks back, away from the orange glow that threatens to burn his cheek. He's quiet now, afraid to argue further—and anyway, he can't find any words he hasn't already said.

Jack watches him, searching his face before he nods in satisfaction. "Now that's the last I wanna hear about this shit. You're gonna eat your food, you're gonna do your work, you're gonna listen to what my nephew tells you, and you're gonna stop it with these psycho freakouts. It's just pathetic."

Jesse sucks in a shuddering breath. Then he nods.


	186. Day 186

The grate swings open with a shrieking clang and Jesse watches as the food bucket descends, jerking and swinging. When it comes within arm's reach, he takes it with both cuffed hands and brings it close to his chest so he can retrieve what's inside: another bowl of flavorless oatmeal, no spoon. Once he has his meal, he lets go of the bucket so Todd can draw it back to the surface.

He expects Todd to leave him in silence, then, like he'd done that morning. But when he doesn't hear the grate shut, he looks up and finds his keeper perched there on the bars, staring down at him through the hole.

Jesse holds up the bowl like he understands Todd's concern—yes, yes, he's eating it. He even bows his head to slurp up a mouthful of the stuff, like he's some retarded mental patient or an animal raiding a picnic table, and he picks his head up again to show Todd that he's chewing it—yes, like a good boy.

Todd lights a cigarette and hugs his knees while he smokes it. His face is shrouded in shadow, so Jesse can't even guess at what he's thinking while he looks on.

When he's finished with his sad meal a couple minutes later, Jesse offers up the bowl that he's licked clean, wondering if that's what Todd's been waiting for.

Todd tosses what's left of his cigarette onto the dirt and stands up. For a moment, it almost seems like he's leaving, abandoning Jesse with the door wide open and all. Then he reappears with the ladder in tow, that absurd notion dashed.

He climbs down into the cage and takes the bowl from Jesse's hands, still without a word spoken. He stands there with it cradled in both palms, and Jesse has a flash of worry that Todd's going to suddenly bring it down upon the top of his head and beat him with it. It's a thick ceramic. It'd hurt if he did.

He doesn't. Instead, he kneels down in front of Jesse and sets the bowl aside.

Jesse doesn't quite look at him, not fully. Everything's so uncertain lately, he isn't sure what might set any of them off. He thinks he's been behaving well today, but what he thinks doesn't matter much at all. Maybe he's accidentally being very bad. He's afraid of what will happen if he sees disappointment in Todd's eyes.

Todd reaches out and pets him lightly on the top of his head. "How're you feeling today, Jess?" he asks at last.

"Good," Jesse answers, trying not to flinch as Todd's fingers brush back his greasy hair.

"You're not confused today?"

Jesse replies without hesitation, "No. Not confused."

"Good." Todd flashes a smile at him, though Jesse only catches a glimpse of it with his eyes averted as they are. "That makes me real happy."

Jesse presses his lips together and nods shortly. Previously, this might have been his prompt to ask how Todd's feeling, too. But he doesn't know what will come out of his mouth if he opens it, so it's better to say nothing at all.

"Are you happy, too, Jess?" Todd asks him, filling the silence.

Jesse gives him a twitching nod, and if he gnaws on his lower lip a certain way, it looks like he's smiling.

Appeased, Todd picks up the bowl once more and climbs to his feet. "Make sure you rest good. Tomorrow's an important day. Lotta work to do."

Jesse swallows hard. He's not sure what makes tomorrow a more important day than any other day, but he doesn't ask. He only nods in acknowledgement of Todd's words.

Todd gives him a final pet and turns to go, humming a cheerful song to himself all the way up and out of the cage.


	187. Day 187

Once he's secured the exhaust arm over the fume vent, Jesse's free to peel off his gas mask. He sets it down on the table across from the settling tank and wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, casting a glance at the open door.

Todd never came back. It's unusual for him to be this late, even on a day when he's meeting Lydia. It could mean nothing or it could mean everything. Jesse's too weary to give it much thought. Anyway, he's grateful to be out in the lab, which offers so much more space than the cage and allows fresh air to filter out the rancid stench. He feels a little less like he's soaking in filth, even when he's surrounded by poison.

He's got no more work to do for now, so he paces back and forth down the aisle and enjoys the liberty of moving his feet as much as his shackles will allow. Resolutely, he keeps his mind clear of worries about what might be going on outside, of what orders Lydia might be passing down. He's done everything he can for them. He's done his job just like they wanted.

Something catches his eye on his third trip to the end of the dog run. He almost can't reach it as he bends to pick it up, out from under the table where it's fallen. When he straightens, he gives the lab a swift look around. He isn't breaking any rules, he doesn't think, but this is Todd's notepad, after all. Maybe he'd be angry to find it in Jesse's possession.

Intent on leaving it alone, Jesse starts to set it down on the tabletop. Yet something in his mind nags at him, the same as it had on the day he nearly left for Alaska, when he was standing beside the dam and waiting for his ride to a new life. It's the burning feeling of holding an answer in his hands, and it's something he can't ignore.

He flips to the first page and finds nothing but innocuous notes on what must have been their first cook together. He doesn't remember giving any advice back then, too shaken to have said much of anything. Todd must have been watching him closely, instead, and taking down every weight and measurement and temperature he employed. It's stupid, really. It's all stuff Todd should've memorized after cooking with Heisenberg himself for so long.

The next fifteen pages are much the same. Some notes are repeated more than once, as if Todd forgot he'd already written them. Other notes are missing crucial bits of information, so Jesse can't imagine how they would've been any use at all. "300 mg" of _what?_ Did he zone out halfway through writing?

It gets stranger. One page is nothing but a list of song titles that Jesse only recognizes from brief glances at Todd's iPod. Another page looks like a grocery list. Another contains a list of dates, like "5/24 - breakfast" and "5/26 - walk" and "6/3 - movie night".

Goosebumps run down his arms as he comes to a page that reads only "Tuesday delayed flight 9:15" with the time underlined emphatically in bold black.

Jesse flips through the next several pages more quickly, his hands shaking. He stops at a series of copied lines repeated over and over. A memorization exercise, like he used to do back in elementary school with vocabulary lists. They read things like "You're more important than anything else in the world." and "It's important to feel appreciated." and "I love you like a brother." and "I will keep you safe."

He drops the notepad onto the table as if it's spontaneously burst into flames, recoiling from it, feeling like he's going to be sick. He turns away and finds himself looking at the same spot on the floor where he'd left Todd lying during his failed attempt to murder the lot of them. The concrete is still slightly scorched.

There isn't another moment to linger on it. The shuffling footsteps behind him signal someone's arrival, and Jesse whirls around to come face-to-face with Todd himself. He swallows his revulsion and masks his resentment, wondering how long Todd's been watching him and whether he knows that Jesse now knows.

But Todd's preoccupied with something else entirely. He reaches to unlock Jesse from his leash, his features twisted up in something like discomfort or doubt. "Somebody wants to see you," he says.

"Who?" Jesse asks as he puts his hands out to be cuffed, resisting the urge to wrap them around Todd's throat.

Todd hesitates, and he secures the handcuffs around Jesse's wrists before he answers, "Mr. White."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Now go watch _Felina_.
> 
> Wow. We've finally come to the end of this. It felt like forever but I also can't believe it's already done.
> 
> I'm so overwhelmed by the response to this fic. I honestly never expected it would get this much attention at all. It was the strangest writing experiment for me, and all about an arc I found the least compelling and most dissatisfying in canon, and I feel so honored that all of you wanted to take this journey of creative exploration with me. Thank you so much to everyone who's supported me the whole way. I loved reading your comments every single day, watching you guys speculate and debate and enjoy this humble little endeavor. It's been incredible.
> 
> I'm working on a sequel to this story and you can expect the first chapter to hit AO3 on Walt's birthday: September 7. Until then, you can follow me on [tumblr](http://panatheism.tumblr.com) and keep up with my progress and my art and related goodies. If you haven't checked it out before, you should. There are quite a bit of _187_ extras scattered around there.
> 
> Well... It's time to say goodbye. Thanks again, everyone! I love you!


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